


Raven Among Wolves

by Kouji757



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Aela - Freeform, Companions, F/M, Farkas - Freeform, Kodlak Whitemane - Freeform, Ria - Freeform, Silver Hand, Vilkas - Freeform, non-dragonborn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-10-19 18:01:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 43,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17606222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kouji757/pseuds/Kouji757
Summary: Vilkas had always believed that love at first sight was something that only happened in bard's tales and he'd seen his fair share of beautiful women without turning into a bumbling idiot to believe it, but when a woman comes seeking her last blood relative he begins to think that maybe the bards knew something he didn't, and that he's not as brave as he thought he was.((AU - roughly follows the Companions quest line with several key changes. ))





	1. Chapter 1

Vilkas often found himself jerking awake with the remnants of a nightmare quickly fading from memory - they were dreams born out of the restlessness of the beast blood that ran through his veins and were as familiar to him as the weight of his own armor; this morning was no different, and as he usually did when awakened so abruptly he took a moment to lay there in the darkness of his room, quiet and still, listening and sensing for any trouble.

The first thing he noticed was a new scent on the air.

It was subtle and calm, and the sort of earthy smell that happened after a good hard rain. Vilkas was certain he'd never smelled anything like that within Jorrvaskr's halls and after some time spent laying there deeply breathing it in he roused himself and stood, stepping into his boots before pushing his door open and moving out into the short hallway that separated his room from his twin's.

His heightened sense of hearing could detect a murmur of voices nearby - one he recognized as Kodlak's, and coming from what he assumed was the Harbinger's room that was at the far end of the larger hall that ran beneath Jorrvaskr and connected all the living quarters. The second voice was feminine and one he definitely didn't recognize; the rainy scent was much stronger out here compared to in his room behind a closed door and there was a "green" undertone to it that reminded him of Arcadia's shop.

The voices continued to murmur and he heard a soft laugh as well - he wondered why the old man would have anyone in his room at this hour, much less a woman. He crossed the short distance from his door to the main hallway right as he heard Kodlak's door open.

"-time to read through it," the woman's voice was saying. "I can come back later this afternoon."

"Very well, child," Kodlak said. "Though, you realize that's not needed."

"You should have the time to fully consider this...even I'm still trying to wrap my head around it, and I was afraid you'd turn me away."

"I turn no one away without giving them a chance to speak their piece."

Vilkas stepped out into the hall then stopped in his tracks when his gaze fell on the woman standing there with Kodlak.

She was easily the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes on; her hair was black, tied into a tail high on the back of her head and shining in the candlelight. She had pale, fair skin, free of scars or markings, and when she'd turned her head toward him and their gazes met he found himself staring at eyes that were a vivid sapphire in color. She was slender and not that tall, dressed in rough traveling gear of various shades of brown and had a heavy pack at her left hip that hung from a strap that was slung over her right shoulder and across her chest.

Vilkas took all this in and stared dumbly - all words and thoughts had completely abandoned him; the woman noticed him staring and frowned at him before turning her attention back to Kodlak.

"I will return."

Kodlak nodded to her; Vilkas stumbled a bit to step out of her way but couldn't tear his attention away from her as she walked toward him, then passed him and down the hallway to disappear through the door that lead to the stairs. The earthy scent overwhelmed him as she brushed by and he finally had the sense to feel slightly embarrassed at the sudden lightheaded feeling that came with it.

"Who... Who was that?" he finally asked.

Kodlak laughed at his dazed tone, shaking his head. Vilkas finally turned around to look at him; the elder held a book in his hands that was bound in plain leather, with no title that he could see.

"If she is to be believed, she is family," Kodlak answered.

\----------------------------------------------------

He didn't see her again until later that evening.

The doors to Jorrvaskr had opened with a rush of her rainy, earthy scent; it had immediately caught his attention and Vilkas watched silently as she crossed the room to where Kodlak sat. The man stood with a smile and gestured for her to approach, then had led her toward the back doors and out into the space behind Jorrvaskr where there were tables and benches, as well as straw training dummies.

When Aela clapped a hand to his shoulder he'd flinched and nearly fallen out of his chair.

"What?" he snapped.

Aela seemed a bit surprised at his tone - and he hadn't meant to sound that...harsh, he supposed. "Did you not hear a word I just said?"

"I- no. I was thinking of something else. What is it?"

"A pair of giants were sighted near Pelagia's farm. He's paying a rather large sum of coin for someone to get rid of them - grab your sword and let's go."

"Aye," he muttered, standing to follow her. 

Outside of Jorrvaskr the light breeze had whisked away any remnant of the woman's scent and somehow Vilkas found that more distracting than its presence; he took a deep breath of the fresh air and brought his mind back around to the thought of the hunt - to the battle they were hurrying toward. Giants were no laughing matter and the closer they got the more excited he grew as that familiar rush of adrenaline began course through him. Underneath the adrenaline was also a healthy dose of caution and a few distant memories of a pair of unfortunate guards and a newly recruited Companion...it was best to not let excitement get the best of his judgement or else he'd meet his end with his skull caved in.

When they arrived at Pelagia's farm they immediately spotted the two giants -- one appeared to be wandering off, thankfully, but the other was gleefully attacking the cattle and chickens and in the process was trampling the crops as well.

Vilkas glanced to either side of him - Farkas and Ria were to his left, and Aela to his right.

"Let's circle that second one," he said, moving one hand in a semi-circle to indicate he was more speaking to Farkas and Ria. "That other seems to be moving away. It's best if we try not to take them both at once even if that other comes back."

Farkas nodded and moved off without a word - he rarely questioned Vilkas's orders - and Ria followed a moment after. Aela smoothly pulled her bow from her back and nocked an arrow, nodding to him.

While Ria was new to them the three members of the Circle had fought together hundreds of times - they knew each others skills, habits, and had learned to adjust on the fly as needed to protect and shield one another as the battlefield shifted and changed; Vilkas drew his sword with a practiced ease and, with a bellow, charged for the giant. He had no actual intention of actually closing in with the giant with his charge -- the shout was simply to draw the thing's attention toward him so Farkas and Ria could flank it without the damned thing noticing; as he'd hoped the giant turned toward him with a roar of its own, and as Vilkas skidded to a halt and the giant began to stomp toward him his hair ruffled with the passing wind of a fired arrow that sprouted from the giant's shoulder an instant later.

With his sword held up in a guard Vilkas backpedaled a few yards, trusting to his feet to find steady ground as the giant came rushing toward him only to stumble when Ria's hammer found its knee. It turned and swung its stone-topped club in the same motion but the woman was already moving out of the way, leaping aside and back to let the club swing by harmlessly. The wide swing had left an opening in the giant's defenses and Farkas darted in, bringing his sword down in a two-handed, overhead jab that sank deeply into the giant's calf then tore outward as the man ducked a swung fist and ripped his weapon free as he danced out of the giant's reach.

As the giant focused on Ria and Farkas it steadily turned its back to Vilkas and Aela; arrow after arrow was finding its mark but giants were thick-skinned so the shots weren't penetrating all that deeply. Leaving Aela to her bow Vilkas rushed forward the remaining distance and brought his sword slicing down at a diagonal, scraping along the skin from shoulder blade to the hip -- despite the sharpness of his weapon he too didn't manage to cut very deep and quickly reversed his grip to stab down at the legs like Farkas had.

"Watch it!"

Vilkas heard the call before he felt the incoming stomps or saw the second giant; there was a sudden loud thud of impact then he felt his stomach drop out through his feet when Farkas went tumbling away - body in one direction, weapon in another.

Ria was flat on her back on the ground and as the second giant raised its club over her suddenly one of Aela's arrows struck it directly in the eye; with an ear-shattering howl of pain the giant let the club drop to the ground and clutched at its face.

With the scent of fresh blood on the air and the rush of fear over seeing Farkas thrown aside the beast blood surged in him -- he could shift forms right now, tear these giants to pieces, their strength would be no match for his strength and speed, he-

Vilkas could feel his muscles twitching - he was balanced on a knife's edge, his body and instincts wanting to transform. Maybe he would have, if Ria hadn't been there; her presence was enough for him to force the urges down, deny them...it had been so difficult lately to ignore the call of the blood that he honestly believed he would have slipped here if...

The thought worried him but now wasn't the time to consider it - not with Ria still not on her feet and with Farkas -- well, he shouldn't think about THAT either, not just yet.

The giant in front of him was stumbling from the stab wound and the gash Farkas had put in its leg and was ponderously turning around to face Vilkas. He sidestepped to stay out of the giant's direct reach, continuing to harass it with jabs and slices as Aela continued to fire over his shoulder -- she was targeting the creature's face, as she had the other, but the giant's head was proving harder to hit as it swung and moved to try and seize Vilkas with its free hand or crush him into the dirt with the club it carried.

Around the giant's hip he could spot Ria hopping around the second giant, staying out of the reach of its frenzied swings; the pain of the arrow embedded in its eye had just made the thing angry and hadn't slowed it in the slightest but had at least made it sloppy and inaccurate with its blows. Not far behind them - with Ria between him and the giant - Farkas dragged himself along the ground with one arm, shoving with his feet, face pale and with a huge dent in the left side of his chest plate.

The sight of his injured twin again threatened to push Vilkas over the edge and slip into his wolf form; a sudden, unexpected swing of the giant's club nearly took his head from his shoulders as his focus slipped. Growling through gritted teeth he drove forward and skewered the giant's thigh, then was forced to abandon the weapon as the giant came alarmingly close to grabbing him.

The two-handed sword, crafted of skyforge steel, wasn't his sole weapon thankfully; in a scabbard on his waist was a skyforge steel short sword, and while it would be next to useless fighting the giants it was better than going entirely without. Vilkas held the sword up and rested the flat of the blade against his palm -- he had a shield on his back as well but that WOULD be incredibly useless here (he knew it would crumple in one direct blow).

One of Aela's shots finally found its mark and sank deeply into the giant's throat; it let out a gargling noise - somewhere halfway between a roar and drowning - and Vilkas dove in to shove the shortsword into its belly, driving it in two thirds of the way to the hilt before leaping backward and out of the way of the large hand swinging for him. The giant's own momentum knocked it off balance and it dropped to its knees and before Vilkas could react suddenly Aela was at his side with the long-bladed hunting knife she favored -- she brought it slashing in in a tight arc and sent a spray of blood into the air as she expertly slit the giant's throat.

Vilkas ripped the great sword free as the giant fell forward, toppling onto the short sword and driving it deeper. With that giant dead they turned their attention to the second one that Ria was keeping entertained; blood was running down its face and it had gotten much worse with its attacks -- Ria hardly had to duck or otherwise move to avoid the swinging hands. Vilkas hefted his sword and charged, tip first, and drove the sword into the giant's spine, digging his feet into the dirt and rock beneath him to put as much force behind the attack as he could muster.

The giant dropped forward, catching itself on its hands with its legs bent underneath it and unmoving. Ria surged forward and cracked her mace into its head at the temple, then brought it around to smash it atop the skull; the giant dropped to the ground with a groan, the arrow in its eye digging in deeper briefly before the shaft snapped as it fell facefirst into the ground. Vilkas planted a boot into the giant's back and pulled his sword free, then stepped around to bring it slicing down into the back of the neck, severing the head.

"Farkas!"

Vilkas didn't pause to clean his sword before snapping it back into the holder on his back and rushing over to where Farkas lay on the ground, propped up by an elbow and struggling to breathe.

Ria hurried up behind him, staring down at Farkas with a half angry, half anxious look. "Why did you do that? It was my fault for not seeing it come up behind us!"

"Shut up, argue it later," Vilkas snapped. He reached out for Farkas and the man extended a shaking hand to him and a half smile. "Can you walk?"

His twin's face was deathly pale and his breathing was shallow and uneven; Farkas shook his head after a moment, not able to get enough air into him to speak. Vilkas nodded in understanding and moved behind him, sliding hands into his armpits to help him slowly sit up; his breath hitched repeatedly and he hugged his arms to his chest as he wheezed.

Vilkas felt a mild sense of dread but refused to let it show on his face. "Come on, up with you. We shall get you to the temple for some mending. Imagine - you can tell the others you survived a giant's blow!"

Farkas managed a weak chuckle but still didn't speak; Ria helped get him to his feet, then with an arm around her shoulders and one over Vilkas's they slowly began to half-carry him back toward Whiterun. The longer they walked the worse Farkas's breathing became, and the more pained noises he made; Vilkas could feel his teeth grating against one another and forced himself to unclench his jaw.

The temple...they would mend him at the temple.

It was a long, slow (and for Vilkas, terrifying) walk back to Whiterun; Farkas hardly seemed conscious at that point, and he labored to breathe. 

"Just a bit further, brother."

Farkas nodded - Vilkas took it as a promising sign that he was still awake. They stepped through the gates and despite the smell of blood and sweat -- there it was again. HER scent.

"I wish all my orders were this easy."

Right inside of Whiterun's gates was the blacksmith shop Warmaiden's, owned by Adrianne Avenicci. The Imperial woman stood at her forge with a lantern in hand - the glass was shattered and the little door that you swung open to light the wick inside was snapped off; that woman was standing nearby, buckling her pack shut with a smile.

They would have to pass by slightly to get to the sloping street that would take them up to the back door of the temple (Vilkas had no desire to carry or make Farkas walk all the way through the market, then up all of those stairs -- the street was a steep incline, and a slightly longer path, but it wasn't stairs and that was all that mattered). Vilkas tore his gaze away from the woman and focused on his brother and on putting one foot in front of the other; the woman noticed their little procession however and after a quick nod to Adrianne hurried toward them.

"What happened to him?"

Vilkas opened his mouth to reply and found he couldn't force a word out or look directly at her without feeling his face flush.

'Damn it, this is not the time,' came his angry thought - directed at himself, of course.

"A giant - it managed to clip him with its club," Ria answered. Vilkas felt a rush of appreciation toward her.

The woman's brow furrowed and she sped up her steps to hop in front of them, gaze roaming over Farkas as she walked backwards to keep pace with them. "-that sounds like broken ribs. I can mend that, if we can get him somewhere and lay him flat."

"You can?" Vilkas asked - he was surprised he'd managed the words, and forced himself to look her in the face.

"Aye. If you can get him over to the inn we can put him in the bed I've bought for the evening. It's a closer, easier walk than to the temple."

Ria craned her neck to glance to Vilkas with a questioning look but it was Aela that answered instead. "If you can mend it like you claim." She didn't sound completely convinced, and there was a bit of doubt that managed to cut through the cloud in Vilkas's head...but with his twin still struggling to breathe he supposed he was willing to try anything.

The raven-haired woman ducked around them and took off at a brisk pace toward the Bannered Mare; they followed much more slowly but she was waiting for them just inside the inn, then led them toward the room she'd rented. There wasn't a single indication that anyone was even staying here - everything was so neat and tidy - aside from the rain scent that clung to the woman; they carefully lowered Farkas down onto the side of the bed, then Vilkas helped lift his legs up and lay him down.

There was a loud thud that he heard as well as felt through the soles of his boots as the woman dropped her pack to the floor, then she was shouldering him aside and bending over Farkas on the bed; Farkas seemed to be breathing easier now that he was flat and resting and it eased some of the fear knotted in Vilkas's stomach, only for it to be replaced with a shy nervousness as he watched the woman lay a gentle hand on his brother's forehead.

She then bent nearly in half to press her ear to his chest; Vilkas felt a heat rush to his ears and a sudden surge of jealousy that caught him by surprise.

He stepped back and away to give her room to work and to clear his head. 'What the hell is wrong with me?'

"This is well within my skill to heal," she said after a moment of listening. She straightened and began to feel around for the straps holding the badly dented breast plate on; once she got the buckles to release she let it drop to the floor at her feet then returned her hand to Farkas's forehead, pressing her palm flat.

There was a glimmer of pale light along her fingertips before Farkas's eyes drooped closed and he seemed to relax into the bed.

"What did you do?" Aela asked from where she stood at the door, arms crossed and watching skeptically.

"Put him to sleep - this will hurt a lot less this way," the woman answered.

She moved both hands to Farkas's chest then, sliding under the sweat-soaked undershirt to feel along bare skin; even in his sleep Farkas let out a pained groan as her fingers found the nasty bruise that took up half of his left side. The glow of magic from this spell was considerably brighter than the one that had put him to sleep; Vilkas had to turn his head away from the harsh, golden glare, and while he was looking at the wall he heard three sickening wet pops and a garbled gasp -- Farkas's eyes flew open with a moan and his head lifted briefly from the straw pillow before he collapsed back flat and squeezed his eyes shut.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry-" the woman said. The glow was rapidly fading from her and she pulled her hands from beneath his shirt, reaching up to brush his hair back. "It would have been a lot worse but you'll be fine now with a few days of rest. No fighting, nothing too strenuous...try not to lift anything heavier than a mug." 

Farkas looked a little less pale and completely exhausted; under the stroke of her hand through his hair his eyelids slipped closed again -- Vilkas was relieved to hear him breathing more evenly, and deeper.

The woman bent down and picked up the breast plate, looking it over. "I'm honestly kind of shocked he wasn't killed."

Ria looked a bit guilty at that; Aela moved forward to take the breast plate. "You'd be surprised what a true warrior can endure." She looked to Farkas on the bed. "Can we move him?"

"Well, yes, but I think he's gone back to sleep. Might be best to just let him lay and wake up on his own unless you're determined to get him back to his own bed right away."

"He - he can stay," Vilkas blurted out. "For now. I will stay with him." The three women turned to look at him and he felt his ears burning again. "It is as she said - best to let him wake on his own. Yes?" He swallowed hard and looked to the raven-haired woman.

She nodded to him. "That WOULD be best, but again if you're dead set on moving him it won't do any harm either. Just make sure he takes it easy for a few days."

Aela nodded at that, then looked to Ria. "Unless you plan on staying as well I suggest we return to Jorrvaskr."

Ria glanced to Farkas with another guilty look before shaking her head and moving to follow Aela out of the room; Vilkas stared down blankly at Farkas's feet, listening to their retreating footsteps until any sounds of them faded in with the general chatter and sounds of the patrons downstairs. When he was certain they were definitely gone he looked up to the woman, feeling awkward.

"Ah..."

She turned from him and bent to her pack on the floor, reaching in to pull a thick tome free. "You're welcome to sit up here. I'll be within earshot if you need anything. I promise, he'll be fine."

Before he could manage a response she was through the door and down the stairs. A distinct feeling of disappointment filled him - in himself mostly, but also at the fact she hadn't stayed up here - and with a sigh he dropped onto the edge of the bed near his brother's feet.

'I could follow her. Talk to her,' he repeated over and over in his mind but he couldn't bring himself to stand up and go; the thought brought on a nervousness he'd never felt before with anyone, and upon reflection he felt a sort of frustration with himself over it. He'd faced down giants, bears, bandit clans, and had survived more than a few clashes with the damned Silver Hand...and yet, something about this one woman had him pausing, uncertain about himself and for the life of him he wasn't clear on why -- he'd seen plenty of beautiful women (and yes, he did find this one highly attractive), and love at first sight only happened in bard's tales. He'd never hesitated like this for any other woman...why this now? It's not like a woman like her would even look twice at him and she was probably married, anyway.

That she might be married brought a bit of peace to his mind, enough so that he was starting to doze off himself when Farkas finally stirred; after a moment to wake up some they stood and left, and Vilkas offered the woman a small wave when he spotted her in the back corner of the inn -- she hardly acknowledged him before returning her attention to the book open in her lap. 

Outside, as they slowly walked up to Jorrvaskr, Vilkas breathed in the clear night air and was thankful that the rain he smelled was a storm on the horizon instead.


	2. Chapter 2

"Any idea who she is? She's been speaking to Kodlak a lot."

Vilkas glanced to Aela, taking several swallows of mead from his mug before replying. "I do not know. I would like to know however."

"I should have known she was a mender from the smell...it's like sticking my head in Arcadia's place."

"She's related to Kodlak," Farkas spoke up, not even looking over at them from where he sat beside his brother.

Both Vilkas and Aela turned to stare at Farkas; the man had done little more than sit in the mead hall these last few days and Vilkas knew he was getting restless but for the life of him he couldn't think of a time when he'd seen Farkas anywhere else, much less speaking to the woman they were all curious about.

"Where did you hear that?" Aela asked.

"From her," came Farkas's simple reply. "Thanked her for fixing me up, got to talking."

A small twinge of jealousy hit Vilkas again and he quickly took another swig from his mug to hide his face.

"Related to Kodlak..." Aela muttered, looking thoughtful. "I wonder how. She looks young enough to be his daughter but doesn't look anything like him...he's never mentioned any family before."

"Don't know," Farkas replied. "Didn't ask. Figured it wasn't my business and that she said as much as she wanted me to know."

The doors to Jorrvaskr were flung open then as Skjor, Athis, and Njada came in in a tumble, laughing and in high spirits, talking over one another about some kind of bandit hunt and a mine. They'd been gone over a week; it was good to see them back and in one piece and Vilkas felt his own spirits rising as their triumphant mood overtook the room, their laughter contagious. Drinks were poured and they all sat and listened to how Skjor had led the other two down into a mine being held ransom by some upstart group of bandits -- they'd kicked the doors in and systematically eliminated every bandit that didn't immediately surrender, and of the ones that did a few had bounties in Whiterun so they'd secured not just the payment for retaking the mine but also the hefty bounties for turning the criminals in.

It had been a fantastic hunt, a harrowing fight through tight and dim tunnels, and then a large payout for their troubles -- little wonder they were in such good moods.

He'd not really eaten much before he'd gotten to drinking with the others; eventually Vilkas felt the drink coming on and knew he should stop before he got to the point where he'd be a stumbling, non-functioning fool. Getting up he clapped a hand to Skjor's and Athis's backs, nodded at Njada across the table, and then carefully made his way to the rear door and out into the night air.

At first he didn't notice her there - he was upwind of her this time - but after a few deep breaths of the cooler air he'd heard the sound of a book shutting and had looked up to see her perched on a bench at one of the tables, watching him.

Of all times to encounter her again, it had to be when he was drunk...great.

"Not going to get sick, are you?"

Gods, he hoped not. "No. I merely needed some fresh air," he managed after a pause. His head at least felt a little clearer out here and away from the drink and cheers but a knot of anxiety settled in his gut as he opened his mouth to elaborate further but no words came.

Her gaze flicked over his shoulder to the door. "Sounds like someone's excited in there."

He wanted to explain their celebration, he truly did...but all that fell out of his mouth was a quiet "ah" followed by his mind blanking on what to say and what order. Feeling a flush in his face that wasn't because of the alcohol he turned away, clearing his throat; a quick glance showed her staring at him with a look of confusion and a bit of distaste.

Taking a deep breath Vilkas forced himself to turn back to her. "Sorry, I- ah. I was not expecting to find anyone out here." She acknowledged him with a quiet hum; his stomach churned with mead and nervousness, and finally his mind latched onto something. "Thank you for mending my brother."

That prompted a smile from her. "You're welcome. It was my pleasure to help."

"I have never seen him that badly hurt before."

"It was just a few broken ribs that likely poked into a lung. He wouldn't have died from the injury itself - it would have been a very long and agonizing recovery - but that sort of thing lets you get sick a lot easier, and it's harder to get over something even as simple as a cold."

"Even still. You fixed it with a skill I haven't seen outside of the temple." Once he'd got going the words seemed to come easier. 

Her expression brightened at his compliment and the anxiety in his gut squirmed at it. "That's kind of you to say. Thank you."

Vilkas gestured to the bench and she nodded briefly; he carefully crossed the few feet and slid onto the bench facing her, trying to ignore a rising feeling of shyness. "How...how long have you been a mender?" 

"I started studying my mother's books and notes when I was ten summers old. When I was fifteen I started sneaking out to go learn from the priestesses at the temple."

Vilkas found it difficult to look at her directly for very long (between the single burning brazier against the stone wall behind the training dummies and the moonlight that filtered through the slats of the roof above them the soft light gave her an even softer look). "Temple, you say? Which? I do not believe I have seen you in Whiterun before."

She shook her head. "No, not here. In Riften."

"You've come a long way."

"I suppose I have." 

She smiled softly at him and he realized his heart was hammering against his ribs. "My brother - he mentioned you are related to Kodlak. Somehow," he added awkwardly.

Her smile faltered slightly and he froze. "Yes, I am. He's my last living blood relative."

Vilkas paused - was he insulting her? Being too nosey?

To his relief she continued. "After my father drank himself to death I found a book among his belongings where he'd been tracing our bloodline back through the generations. Kodlak Whitemane's great grandfather sired a son on a married woman -- I suppose to spare the honor of everyone involved he left the child and never went back or had a hand in raising him."

"I see. And I am sorry to hear of your loss."

"Don't be," she replied, tone going flat. "My father was not a great man. Or even a good man."

"I see you have met our Master at Arms."

They both turned as Kodlak strode out of the doors and came over to settle on the bench beside Vilkas. 

The woman's attention returned to him, her look curious; he struggled to keep his expression friendly but could hardly stand her scrutiny. Her comment earlier about whether he was about to be sick or not came to mind - the more he tried to suppress his anxiety the more a mild nausea was taking hold.

'What the hell has gotten into me?'

"Master at Arms?" she repeated. "I didn't realize I was speaking to someone titled."

"It's - it's nothing. I do not require titles," he managed though his mouth had gone suddenly dry again.

"Ever the humble one," Kodlak chuckled. He looked to the woman with a smile. "I have thoroughly read over everything you provided and much of it matches up with what I know of my own family line. It would seem your father was correct, and we are of the same blood."

The woman's smile widened. "I'm so relieved to hear it. I would have hated it if it...if it was a lie."

Kodlak's expression softened and he gave her a kindly smile. "It is all right, child. I'll admit I find it hard to believe I could have any family remaining either. My question to you, however, is what are you expecting to do now?"

She was silent for a long time; Kodlak sat patiently, hands clasped on the table in front of him, and Vilkas wondered if he should leave or stay but the night air was gradually sobering him up and strangely, with Kodlak's arrival, some of the nervousness in his stomach had evaporated.

"I suppose I hadn't...really thought that far ahead," the woman answered finally. She looked up from the table to meet Kodlak's gaze. "My only real goal was to find what family I had left. Now that I have, I don't really know what to do."

"That is something we both have in common then," Kodlak chuckled. He silently studied her then - Vilkas knew that look: he'd seen it dozens of times as the old man assessed and judged the would-be recruits seeking to find their fortune beneath Jorrvaskr's roof.

"If you can spare me the time..." the woman started, "I WOULD like to learn of you. Learn of the family I didn't know I had."

"That I can do," Kodlak replied. He was still giving her that appraising gaze, then suddenly he stood. "But, I feel you are not just here seeking me. Maybe you'll discover both the question and the answer to it, in time. Until then feel free to come and go as you will -- I will speak to you any time you wish."

"Thank you," she said, voice full of gratitude.

Kodlak offered them both a nod and then disappeared back inside; as the door swung open the sounds of merriment could still be heard - it wasn't as loud now as it had been earlier but Vilkas had completely tuned it out while talking to the woman and had even forgotten that they were celebrating inside.

He was pleased to find that no nervousness or hesitation returned to him; he'd found courage and comfort in Kodlak's arrival but now that he'd gone Vilkas found he could look the woman in the eyes without his stomach doing flips. 

For good measure however he reminded himself that she was likely married. It helped.

"Would you care to go inside? There is food and drink. More than enough for an extra mouth."

She glanced to the door, lightly chewing on her lower lip; the small action drew his attention and he found himself letting his gaze trace the shape of her lips and jaw, down her neck and to her shoulder-

"I know I've been invited to come and go...but I don't feel I truly belong inside there."

"You are a guest of Kodlak's, none will question your presence."

"That's not really... Nevermind. I suppose I could go inside...it's not much different from what I've been doing already, I guess."

He wasn't entirely clear on what she meant -- well, he understood that she'd been visiting with Kodlak inside Jorrvaskr, but whatever other meaning she'd hinted at he couldn't begin to guess. The bench underneath him scraped across the stone as he stood; she half stood and gracefully lifted her legs one after the other over the bench without touching or budging it, then circled around the table to follow him inside.

The excitement had died down even more than Vilkas had realized and most that still sat within the mead hall were eating or enjoying the warmth of the fire that was slowly burning out in the pit before the tables. Skjor had taken the chair he'd been in before so he moved to the other side of Farkas and used a leg to slide the chair to his right out for the woman to sit in; he felt a little warmth as she slid in beside him. Farkas offered her a nod in greeting that she returned with a smile, and Skjor and Aela had their heads together talking in low voices and didn't notice that she'd joined them at the table.

"Looks like they're letting anyone in these days."

The woman flinched as Athis - the elf was more than a little drunk - fell into the empty seat beside her and slapped a hand on the table in front of her.

"Watch your tongue," Vilkas snapped. The words tumbled out of him before he'd really realized what he was saying. Athis blinked at him in surprise and Vilkas gave him a warning look.

While she'd been startled initially now the woman didn't seem too fazed, doing little more than leaning away from the dunmer which brushed her shoulder to Vilkas's. "You're drunk, elf. When you're sober maybe I'll explain why I'm here."

"Your sword as sharp as your tongue?" Athis chuckled. He rubbed at his face, staring her down - he seemed more curious than anything, and the woman still didn't seem bothered by him. "Who're you?"

"Tormlia," she answered.

Tormlia... It rang in his ears; Athis nodded at her, clumsily patted her shoulder and muttered a welcome, then got up to stumble toward the stairs.

Vilkas watched him go; he felt...odd. Not exactly angry toward the man, but...something like it, maybe with a bit of annoyance mixed in. When Athis was out of sight Vilkas turned back to Tormlia (it felt strangely wonderful to finally know her name) and met her gaze with a bit of a twinge in his stomach.

"He is not normally like that."

She shrugged. "Enough drink can make anyone into anything."

He thought back to her earlier comment about her father's death and carefully nudged away the mug in front of him. "Where are you staying?"

"The Bannered Mare. Hulda was kind enough to reduce her pricing since I explained I would be there for an extended time."

Vilkas frowned. "There are empty beds here. You shouldn't be paying for a bed."

"It's all right. I wouldn't feel right staying here. Kodlak also said I could sleep here, but..."

"But what?"

She sighed, frowning. "I don't belong here - I'm no warrior or glory seeker. I don't exactly deserve a bed here." After a moment she looked to him. "You don't need to worry about me, I don't mind the price at the inn. Let someone whose actually earned the bed sleep in it."

While he understood her logic (and in a way, agreed with it) it still bothered him and he didn't know why. He chose not to push the issue though and even if he'd wanted to he didn't get the chance as Aela came over and gestured for him to get up and follow her. With an apologetic look to Tormlia and giving Aela one tinged with annoyance he stood and moved over to where she and Skjor had been huddled together.

Skjor seemed smug, bordering on eager; only then did Vilkas realize that Farkas had apparently left the room - he pulled his brother's empty chair around and dropped into it, looking to Skjor expectantly.

"How do you feel about a hunt, brother?" Skjor asked.

"What are we hunting?"

Skjor leaned forward, his voice lowering enough that Vilkas could barely hear him. "We found them - they've taken over the fort at Gallows Rock and established a few camps near it. We need to find out just how strongly they're entrenched before they get any closer."

Vilkas knew who Skjor meant without him voicing it - the Silver Hand. 

He wasn't sure at what point in the Companion's history that the Silver Hand had learned about the beast blood that the Circle carried but they were a group dedicated to wiping out werewolves and took any chance they got to hunt down any Companion they suspected of carrying the curse; Vilkas could remember a few innocent recruits that had been slain by the Silver Hand - recruits who knew nothing about the Circle's secret - and the reminder made his blood boil...but it was an anger tempered with a healthy dose of caution.

Gallows Rock... It was an old fort to the southwest of Windhelm; it sat at the base of a mountain and, thanks to a river that ran south of it, there was a pass they could follow that was a clear shot to Whiterun. This placed the group at an excellent location to keep an eye on the Companions -- all of them would be in danger, especially if any found themselves traveling east.

But... "How much have you scouted?"

"Not enough," Skjor admitted. "That's our next step."

"I am not one for scouting, I stand out too much," Vilkas said after a moment. And it was true, stealth was not his strong suit; he had to really focus to quiet his blood and remain hidden, and he didn't care to skulk about in the brush besides...it always felt too dishonorable to him. "Whatever you do be careful. If they're this close we could easily be hunted and outnumbered."

Skjor smirked. "Which is why we're going to eliminate them." The warrior looked to Aela who nodded to him; together they both got up and headed downstairs.

He watched them go, feeling troubled. Something about Skjor's look, and his words, gave Vilkas an uneasy feeling; he knew Skjor was the most experienced out of everyone under Jorrvaskr's roof and knew that the man wasn't one for recklessness.

And yet, still...something about the whole situation felt off, and that the Silver Hand were moving closer was no small worry.

Sighing Vilkas turned in his seat and looked back to where Tormlia was smiling up at Tilma; the old woman had forced cheese and bread on her that she was picking at politely.

"It's grown late," Tormlia was saying, "I should return to my room. Thank you, though. I haven't had fresh bread in an age."

Tilma squeezed her shoulder. "Sweet girl. Take care."

With that Tormlia stood and came around the tables; Vilkas rose from his chair when she approached as a wild, nervous feeling struck him and he mentally cursed Skjor for pulling him away. "You are leaving?"

Tormlia nodded. "I am. I'll return in the morning, probably." She eyed him up and down. "You're...Vilkas, yes?"

His heart felt lighter at that. "Aye."

She nodded with a small smile. "Thank you for the company and kindness, Vilkas. And, good night."

"G-good night," he replied, watching until she disappeared through the door. His frustration with Skjor intensified and he dropped back into his chair with a growl. Tilma gave him an odd look but she too retreated to the lower level of Jorrvaskr, leaving Vilkas alone in the mead hall.

He looked over the bread, cheeses, and what looked like mutton roast left warming by the dying fire; his stomach growled - he'd completely skipped dinner - but he didn't have any desire to eat alone.

When he stood up he almost knocked the chair out from under him; he paused long enough to straighten the chair back up then stomped moodily down the stairs to collapse onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling with a restlessness he couldn't place.


	3. Chapter 3

She was there the next day and spent several hours downstairs listening as Kodlak recounted his family history as he knew it; Vilkas had even joined them for the last hour or so when he'd realized she was down there. He'd never heard these stories before and found the Harbinger's history fascinating - he could take comfort in the fact that he would have wanted to be here listening even if Tormlia hadn't been (though he also had to acknowledge that Kodlak likely wouldn't be sharing this if she wasn't here...he tried not to think about it too much).

However, the day after she was nowhere to be seen.

As she'd been there nearly every day since he'd first seen her he found it strange (and a tad worrying) that she wasn't anywhere near Jorrvaskr so far as he could tell. He didn't have to try and hide his concern as hardly anyone was at Jorrvaskr anyway: Aela and Skjor had left to go scout the Silver Hand camps, Farkas (now that he was recovered) had gone out with Athis and Ria to track down a trader that had reneged on a signed contract with Belethor and run off with goods the Breton had already paid for, and Njada tended to keep to herself anyway. The only ones in the mead hall were Vignar, Brill, and Torvar, and Vilkas felt restless enough to take Torvar up on his sparring suggestion when the man asked.

At last, as he was heading to bed later, he saw her; she was standing in front of Kodlak as he sat in his usual chair just outside of his room.

"I can't promise I can cure it but I can certainly slow it."

As Vilkas approached she handed Kodlak a small bottle; the elder looked it over then sat it on the table.

"You did not have to do this, but I am thankful."

She smiled at him and turned, looking surprised to see Vilkas standing there. "Oh - hello."

Kodlak nodded to Vilkas silently and stood; the bottle had some kind of greenish fluid in it that sloshed quietly as the old warrior picked it up and carried it with him into his room, shutting the door behind him.

He wanted to ask what it was but felt it wasn't his place to ask after Kodlak's business. "I wondered where you were today," he said after a moment, feeling like an idiot immediately after he'd said it.

She smiled faintly at him. "I wasn't aware you were keeping an eye on me."

"Ah-" he started, as his ears burned. "Not - no, I'm not. But you've been here every day, then suddenly you weren't. I noticed your absence."

"I was lacking a few ingredients I needed and that apothecary place in the market didn't have them either, so I went hunting outside. Thankfully I found just enough of what I was looking for."

At the mention of her having gone outside the walls of the city a cold fear blossomed in his stomach -- Skjor's mentioning of the Silver Hand having moved closer was still fresh on his mind. If they were keeping any sort of watch on Jorrvaskr, somehow, and saw her coming and going... "You shouldn't do that," he blurted out.

She looked surprised at that, then slightly insulted. "Excuse me? You do not command me in any way."

"Ah, no, not - not that. It's dangerous. Bandits, dragons," he rambled. "It's not safe. Not for you to be alone. Should you need to leave the city again, come get me. I will go with you."

"Surely you have more important things to do."

"There is nothing more important than-" he stopped, mouth going dry. Her look was changing from the insulted look to a suspicious one. He shook his head. "You shouldn't go alone. Not with dragons and bandits so close to Whiterun. The dragons moreso than anything. You are Kodlak's family, I feel obligated to protect you."

He waited, praying she'd ask no further questions and cursing his own stupidity for his near slip-

Near slip? No, he hadn't- that wasn't a slip, it was perfectly reasonable to consider protecting her important. She was blood kin to Kodlak - this was no stranger, this was family. That was it. That was all.

She blew out a sigh. "Fine. I expect I'll need to do so again in a few days."

He tried to keep the relief out of his voice and smile. "Very well. I will be here."

Tormlia nodded then moved passed him to leave; he turned to watch her go, feeling a mix of foolishness and elation and that night sleep was difficult to find.

\-----------------------------------------

Slowly but surely he felt more comfortable in her presence.

There were times where he was invited to sit with her and Kodlak as he told his stories of himself (both before and after he'd joined the Companions), of his family, and even some stories of the history of the Companions in general. Vilkas found the stories fascinating but it was hard to concentrate solely on them at times -- Tormlia's attention was always on Kodlak but there was something just...endearing to him about her posture and idle smile as she listened and asked questions. Too often he'd find his gaze straying to her, momentarily losing track of what Kodlak was saying; several times he'd found Kodlak glancing to him - catching him in the act of staring at her - and he would look away quickly with his ears burning. The elder would just smile and not call attention to it, and Tormlia didn't seem to notice or question it either.

They had gone outside of Whiterun twice and it was harder to enjoy these moments; Tormlia was quick and agile, and incredibly knowledgeable about the plants and other wild ingredients needed in alchemical and medicinal creations, but he couldn't shake the uneasiness of knowing that the Silver Hand may well be watching. Vilkas kept alert for any threat, from any direction, leaving Tormlia to poke around and collect whatever it was she was looking for while he tried to keep his imagination from dreaming up nightmarish scenarios of one or both of them hurt or killed because his attention lapsed.

On their third outing, coming back from the mountainous forest area to Whiterun's south, Vilkas felt his soul chill at the sound of a roar echoing through the air. Tormlia heard it as well and looked around, caution clear in her face; Vilkas stepped closer to her as the roar sounded a second time. It was coming from the north, high up, and the second roar sounded closer than the first.

"Dragon..." he murmured. If this were any other situation he'd have welcomed the chance to test his skill against such a beast, but now...

He looked to Tormlia, then scanned the skies -- wherever the dragon was it wasn't in view just yet. If they moved quickly enough they might make it to the safety of the city before it reached them.

"We need to move. Now. Head for Whiterun."

Tormlia nodded and took off at a jog with Vilkas at her heels; he stumbled a few times as his attention was on the sky rather than the ground under his feet. Whiterun grew ever closer as they hurried along and Vilkas could see movement at the gates -- guards were gathering, many armed with bow and arrow. Their heads were turned to the sky and the small amount of relief he felt at their presence turned to pure ice in his stomach as a he felt the wind shift and a shadow flew over them.

The dragon was very high up yet and Vilkas grabbed Tormlia by the arm and took off at a sprint. "Run for the gates - go!"

She was actually much faster than he was; he let go of her arm and let her run ahead of him, his own pace gradually slowly as he watched the dragon circling ahead. He breathed a sigh of relief when she saw her running passed the guards that were streaming out of the gates of Whiterun then he skidded to a halt and turned his full attention to the beast high in the clouds.

As it circled each pass brought it lower and lower. It seemed to be heading more west -- Vilkas new there was a watch tower out that way; when the group of guards came out and reached where he'd stopped he followed along in their wake -- with Tormlia safe he couldn't help but want to test himself against the dragon.

They didn't move nearly so quickly as a dragon flew and it was already attacking the western watch tower when they arrived; the dragon had already set all the banners of Whiterun and the wooden parts of the watch tower on fire (and Vilkas could see a charred corpse laying on its back on the ramp that led up into the tower - the stench of charred meat was heavy on the air and the beast blood surged in him, prompting a feeling of disgust with himself as he shoved it down inside his mind). He could see a single guard huddled in the relative safety of the watch tower's doorway -- the man was gesturing for them to retreat, to fall back, and while Vilkas wasn't close enough to completely understand him he guessed that the man's shouting was telling them to get away and take cover.

The shadow passed by overhead again (larger, meaning it was closer) and then abruptly the dragon dove; the guards, as well as Vilkas, scattered to get out of its range as it came bearing down on them with its jaws snapping and clawed feet attempting to snag anyone unfortunate enough to not get far enough away.

The thrill of the hunt - that rush of adrenaline, so familiar to him - ran through him, and he had to repeatedly remind himself he was surrounded by people who didn't know he carried the beast blood: he absolutely could not let the blood get the best of him and transform here. Sword (and, most likely, shield with it) were all he could rely on here.

In fact he felt highly disappointed that of the guards around him not a single one had a shield with them; there was a man among them that seemed to be issuing orders and Vilkas didn't recognize him, even when the man took his helmet off to be heard clearer - he was a Nord, bald and with a black beard trimmed short but gathered at his chin with a metal band set with a tiny sliver of garnet.

"Spread out and don't let it charge you!" the man was shouting. "If it's looking at you you get out of the way - the rest of you get at those wings! Bring it down, keep it grounded!"

Whether they'd not noticed him there or didn't care Vilkas wasn't certain but he also supposed that, as the dragon landed heavily in their midst and snapped at the nearest man, that they probably didn't care about the extra sword. He ripped the shield off his back and drew his short sword and darted forward; as he swung at the wing nearest him the dragon lunged forward in a hopping motion -- the creature's only proper legs were its rear ones and it was using its large, knobbly wing joints in place of front legs to help propel itself forward. The dragon's lunge moved it out of the range of Vilkas's sword and he heard one of the guards scream; seconds after he was blasted with dirt as the dragon leapt into the sky and began to circle again.

Each flap of those wings Vilkas heard clearly and he began to count them, studying as it flapped and spun above them...then, there was an odd noise. It made him think of wind echoing in a cavern, and-

He barely got his shield up in time as the dragon dipped low and let loose with a spray of flames. It wasn't a direct line aimed at him and it did little more than singe him but at least now he knew what he'd heard was the damned thing filling its lungs; the guards fighting with him managed to get out of the path of the flames, some even loosing arrows at the dragon as it passed. The dragon did two more passes, breathing flames over them, then landed again with its head near Vilkas this time.

He sprang off the balls of his feet and brought the sword around in a high diagonal, keeping his shield held at the ready in case the dragon turned its head; his sword bounced off the hard scale of the dragon's neck -- the beast was a washed out brown and had a pair of horns between which a line of spikes started then stretched down the length of the spine. The scales beside the spikes were heavy and thick but he could see lighter ones on the underside of the neck that didn't look quite as armored; the dragon didn't stay on the ground long enough for him to get in a stab against the lighter colored scales and he swore under his breath as it took to the sky again.

Watching it circle, ready to spring aside if it breathed fire, Vilkas resolved to instead trying attacking the nearest wing joint once it landed again; he grimaced as, when the dragon landed, it crushed one of the guards into the ground underneath its bulk but he didn't have the time to dwell on the gruesome death though or more would die. He charged forward and reversed his grip on the handle of his blade, bringing it stabbing downward like a javelin toward the wing joint. The tip caught and dug in but almost immediately hit bone and slid down into the webbing of the wing itself and when the dragon yanked its wing away from him the gash in the webbing was torn even wider. He ducked behind his shield as the dragon's jaws came snapping for him; the dragon's snout hit the shield and drove it back into his own face, slamming it into his nose and cheek -- Vilkas felt a pop followed by blinding pain and a hot wet feeling on his lips a moment later.

Growling, fighting the surge of his blood inside him and bleeding freely from his nose, Vilkas rushed forward and brought his sword up from beneath, stabbing into where the lighter scales on the bottom met with the thicker scales on the dragon's back; the sword dug in deeply and the dragon shied away from him only to take a warhammer to the top of the head as a nearby guard scored a solid enough hit that Vilkas heard not just the blow but the sound of the dragon's teeth clacking together. It seemed to daze the dragon, giving Vilkas the opening to pull his blade free to bring it up in a underhanded cut that cut a slit through the scales on the underside of the neck.

The guards around him finally fully surrounded the dragon; the creature roared in pain as a dozen weapons - swords and maces, warhammers and arrows - repeatedly struck it until, through sheer numbers, they had beaten and butchered the damned thing into a bloody mess. As the dragon collapsed to the ground a strange fire effect burned outward and slowly engulfed its body -- when it faded it was reduced to a skeleton that somehow still held its form.

Now that the dragon was dealt with the sharp scent of blood and the desperate screeches of someone in agony nearby reached him; Vilkas backed away from the skeleton and caught sight of a guard on the ground twenty feet away -- two men knelt next to him and he grimaced slightly to see that the man's right arm at the bicep and elbow was missing a considerable chunk of meat and muscle and the bone was laid bare, clearly shattered...the only confirmed casualty was the man that had been crushed under one of the dragon's dives, but this one...

He heard rapidly approaching steps and spun around -- Tormlia came sprinting across the field, throwing herself down next to the screaming man.

"What do you think you're doing, woman?"

She ignored the indignant challenge by the guard she'd shoved out of the way to reach the injured one and Vilkas could see her eyes widening at the carnage.

"She's a healer," Vilkas snapped. "Get out of her way."

The man that had seemed to be in charge - the bald man with the beard - stepped up next to Vilkas, pulling his helmet off again. "A healer? You're sure?"

"Why would I lie?"

The bald man nodded after a moment to consider that, then sharply gestured for the two men on the ground next to the injured one to get up and stand with the other guards that had gathered around.

Tormlia paid neither of them any attention; the injured man looked young - hardly more than a boy - and he writhed on the ground in front of her. She took one good look at the missing muscle and shattered bone before pressing her hand to the man's shoulder to try and hold him still; Vilkas recognized the little flare of white magic at her fingers as the man stilled some but still groaned and squirmed.

"Can you help him?" he asked, trying to keep the doubt from his tone.

She didn't answer at first; she seemed to make an attempt to somehow piece the bone back together but Vilkas suspected even some of that was missing as well. Finally she looked up first to him then her gaze flicked lower to the sheath at his hip before moving to eye the guard beside him and his weapon (a warhammer).

"I can save his life but not his arm. Do any of you have an - an axe, or something?"

The lead guard's eyes widened. "What? What for?"

"To take his arm off with." She flattened her fingers into a flat blade shape and made a sawing gesture in the middle of the bicep above the raw, shredded mess of the injury.

"You can't be serious."

"Either the arm comes off now or it rots off later," she said grimly. "Even if it somehow heals up he'll never be able to use it again, there's too much missing." In a gentler tone she sighed. "It's a harsh truth, and we don't have much time. An axe, or a wide knife...something? Anything?" Again her gaze roamed over the cluster of guards.

From the rear of the group a man stirred and shouldered his way to the front. "I do, lady." He pulled a steel axe off his back, holding the weapon up with the flat of the head resting on a hand.

She motioned for him to come over and once he stood over her she reached up to flatten a hand to either side of the cutting edge. Her hands burned with a sudden flame and the guard grunted.

"What are you doing?"

"Cleaning the blade - it won't hurt your weapon." She brushed her fiery hands over the blade a few times until it shone, pure and clean, then took a deep breath and after letting the fire die away clamped a hand over the injured guard's eyes; those familiar white energies surrounded that hand and afterward she reached for the mangled arm to position it for the axeman. The arm bent like rotten wheat stalk in her hand; it was held to the man's body only by whatever meat and skin was left -- the bone was in pieces and the jagged ends pulled away even though she'd barely nudged the arm out further from the body.

The man had stilled and gone silent - Vilkas didn't know if it was from blood loss or because she'd put him to sleep as she had Farkas. 

Tormlia moved well out of the axeman's way, keeping a knee in place to pin the injured man's hand to the ground. "Don't miss."

The man wielding the axe brought it up, ready to strike, and hesitated.

Tormlia glanced to the ever growing pool of blood under the ruined arm. "-we don't have the time for cowardice. Strike, or give it to someone who will."

The axeman sucked in a deep breath, then finally hefted the weapon and brought it swinging down. Vilkas turned his head from the blow; he'd killed more than his fair share of men and women, and beasts as well, but this amputation was something very different from the gore of a well fought battle. He heard a wet thud and the click of metal hitting rocky earth, then the injured man woke and let out a garbled scream.

Tormlia fastened her hands around the stump of the arm and she and the man were surrounded by a blinding golden glow; when it finally faded after what seemed like ages the man was awake but stark white in the face with the stump of the arm closed up and covered with bright pink new skin that puckered in where Vilkas assumed the end of the bone was.

"You..." the man gasped, staring at Tormlia with a look that was quickly turning hateful. "You - you MAIMED ME!"

"I saved your life," she replied bluntly. "There is no recovering from a dragon eating half your arm." She got up; her knees were blood-soaked and her hands were just as messy. She held her hands out to her sides to let the blood drip off, and carefully backed up from the man.

"Get him up," the lead guard ordered. "Let's get him back to town. Commander Caius will want a full account of what happened here today."

The man who was now missing an arm hissed like a wild beast when the axe-wielding guard reached down to help him up. "I can't...I can't believe you! You let her do this? Arrest her! My arm..."

"Quiet there, lad," the axeman said. "You're lucky you're alive. Jornlen wasn't so lucky."

The bald man (whoever he was) clapped a hand to Vilkas's shoulder. "I appreciate your help, Companion. I feel the Commander will no doubt be appreciative as well and send a token of that appreciation once he's heard this tale."

"Aye," was all Vilkas said. The guards collected the injured boy and the dead man Jornlen then moved off together toward Whiterun.

When Vilkas turned his attention back to Tormlia she was cleaning her hands against her own tunic and looked to be studying the dragon's skeleton.

"Why did you come back out? Tell me you weren't out in the field while we were still fighting."

"No, I wasn't. I watched from the gates," came her reply. "I came back out when it was safe...if I thought I could have helped with the actual fight I would have come out sooner, but I'm no good with a weapon against...this," she went on, gesturing to the skeleton. She reached out with a relatively cleaner hand to touch a rib bone. "It's so large... It's hard to believe something like this can actually fly."

Vilkas moved around the skeleton slowly, eying it. "I could barely believe it when I first heard of their reappearance. They were things of legends - stories to frighten children with. To see one with my own eyes is..." he trailed off as he came around to the skull, reaching out to tap his knuckles to the hard bone. At a tickle in his nose he sniffed absently and it was painful - a sudden reminder of his face meeting his shield and the bloody nose that had followed that was now throbbing. He quickly wiped a hand under his nose and his fingers came away soaked and sticky but the bleeding seemed to have stopped at least.

Tormlia was silent for a long moment; Vilkas thought she was still studying the remains but was surprised when she came up beside him. "You wouldn't have fought this thing on your own, would you?"

"I-" he found himself staring into her very blue eyes - she was standing very close, close enough to touch, and the look she wore was one of bare concern. "--yes. Probably. I did not want to believe the rumors but after knowing they existed it made me want to test myself against one."

She frowned. "And now that you have?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are you going to try and fight another, by yourself?"

Something in his stomach squirmed at the look she was giving him. His answer was absolutely yes, but...that, he knew, was exactly the answer she shouldn't hear. He ran his tongue over his lips. "-not likely, no. Unless I've no choice." She looked relieved at that, and it occurred to him that she was _worried_ about him. "W-why do you ask?"

"You saw what it did to that man," she said softly, her attention briefly moving to where the severed arm still lay in the blood soaked dirt. After a moment she met his gaze again. "I would rather the same not happen to you." 

He stared into her eyes again and could see the sudden change - the ever so slight shift in where her eyes were focused - as she noticed his bloodied nose. "Wait - is that YOUR blood? What happened? Are you injured?"

He froze in place as she reached up to gently rub a thumb across his cheek near his nose; he was tender there - it was probably swollen - and flinched a bit. "It is nothing. The bleeding has stopped."

"No, if you broke it it's not 'nothing,'" she sighed. 

She didn't touch her fingers to him this time but instead cupped a hand above his nose; he shut his eyes against the glow and with a single wet pop and a quick burst of pain his nose mended. He could still smell nothing but blood (his own blood, thankfully) but the pain was completely gone. "Thank you." She was still standing very close; he had the sudden wild urge to lean forward and-

"You're welcome," she said, stepping back to look down at herself, nose wrinkling in disgust at her bloodstained clothing. "I'm going to go find somewhere to wash all of this off."

"Yes...y-yes, all right," he replied absently. The urge had come and gone so quickly it'd left him wondering what it had really been. "I think I will stay here and examine this skeleton for a time."

She nodded to him with a smile. "All right. You can actually learn a lot from looking at how everything connects together, even if its just bones."

"Aye," he said quietly. He stood and watched her as she walked back across the fields and eventually disappeared through Whiterun's gates.

The feeling from earlier immediately came to the forefront of his mind -- that desire to lean forward and press his lips to hers. It had hit him suddenly and if he hadn't been so shocked to recognize it for what it was he might have been distracted enough to actually do it.

He rubbed his hand down his face, feeling frustrated; it didn't make sense to him. There was no reason for this. He'd seen many women over the years and none of them had had this effect on him...whatever this even WAS. Yes, she was lovely. And clever, and skilled. The other women were too.

Why this? Why now? Why, why, why, why...

Vilkas kicked out at the dragon's skull -- it was incredibly heavy and sent a jolt of pain up his foot when the kick connected, and the skull hardly moved. He found it surprising that the skeleton was holding together so well too when he went to the tail and couldn't pull the vertebrae apart. At the very least (once he actually got to it) focusing on the dragon's remains got his mind off...other things... And before he left he carefully pried a fang free of the skull - it was longer than his longest finger and twice as thick as his thumb. Lightly he tossed it up and down a few times, admiring the weight, but before he left he found himself turning back to the skull, to eye the other teeth and fang. Before he was really aware of it he was prying the other fang free...and wondering if Tormlia would appreciate it as a gift.

'She saved a life here today. She deserves some kind of token,' he told himself.

That was it - just a little trophy to mark her day. That was it, nothing more.


	4. Chapter 4

He'd thought he was growing more comfortable around her and in a way he supposed he was...but now that there wasn't that shyness, that nervous awkwardness, distracting him Vilkas was beginning to notice something entirely different lurking beneath it.

He took a great deal of joy from those times spent sitting beside her, listening to Kodlak's stories, or when he noticed her studying him and whoever he was working with in the training yard, or those idle afternoons where he'd catch her sitting outside in the sun's warmth, and lately they'd also been taking walks fairly often outside of Whiterun as she searched for this or that -- as always he was highly alert for any danger but he...well, he found he really enjoyed this, too.

And he felt he enjoyed it far more than he should - far more than simply spending time with a...friend. But that's all she was...right? A friend? Someone he liked to spend time with, talk with, but he'd felt a deep elation when they'd gotten to talking about their respective families and she'd let slip that she was truly alone -- she wasn't married like he'd been telling himself over and over that she must be.

The more he considered his growing attachment to her the more confused he grew, as he couldn't fathom why this one woman had caught his attention so thoroughly when others had not...but along with the confusion came a deeply rooted fear.

'She has no idea what I am,' he'd find himself thinking. 

It was hard to be anything but afraid when THAT thought came to mind...Tormlia had no idea that he and the Circle were werewolves. 

What would happen if she found out he was cursed with beast blood AND had been lying to her all this time about it? It stirred such a fear in him that for several nights he didn't sleep at all, fretting over how he could possibly tell her and what she would say or do if she knew. Would she shun him? Demand his death like most did with werewolves? He couldn't bring himself to believe she'd have any kindness for him once she knew the truth, even if he told her he wanted, more than anything, to be cured of it.

Or...maybe... She was a mender, a healer...her knowledge of remedies seemed unmatched (at least compared to anyone else Vilkas knew of). Maybe this was a sign that he - and Farkas, and Kodlak - could be cured. A blessing from the Divines sent in the form of a friendly woman, a way to cleanse his blood and soul. Vilkas had always held doubts about the degree of assistance the Divines were willing to directly give to any mortals that didn't expressly follow them and he knew he didn't follow any close enough to even deserve such a thing...but, maybe...

All of it - the idle daydreams, the thoughts and fears - put his mind and spirit into a churning turmoil that was as much a struggle to hide from the others as it was to deny his beast blood and not give in to the desire to change forms and seek prey. It was a turmoil he couldn't tear himself away from until Aela brought news of Skjor's death late one evening after everyone else had already gone to bed.

Admittedly he felt a bit of shame about it -- Aela and Skjor had been gone for over a month, supposedly scouting. He'd not once thought about checking in with them (mostly because he knew they were capable, deadly warriors) but now...now, hearing how they had tried to clear out Gallows Rock on their own...

Shame. Shame over how he'd not worried for their safety or insisted on helping. But there was also an anger that they hadn't come back for help.

Aela had delivered the news with bitterness and anger then had stormed downstairs and swept into her quarters without another word, slamming the door behind her.

Vilkas had followed along behind her expecting to hear more of the story but once she was locked behind her own door he was left standing in the hall with no idea what to do next, and a burning grief in his heart that he wasn't certain how to handle.

All those he would go to for guidance or to confide in weren't...well, here. Farkas was off serving as Shield-Brother to a new recruit, chasing down rumors of the final shard of Wuuthrad. Aela was clearly not talking to anyone, Skjor was... And everyone else was asleep. A sudden longing for Tormlia's company hit him followed by an inner anger that he could be that selfish to think she'd drag herself from her bed for him. 

Behind him he heard a soft click and turned to see Kodlak's door opening; the elder's brows furrowed when he took in Vilkas's anguished look and gestured for him to come and sit with him.

"What weighs on you, Vilkas?"

"Aela has returned from her hunt. Alone," Vilkas answered, voice thick as he dropped into the empty chair. He cleared his throat and took a steadying breath. "Skjor was killed by the Silver Hand. At Gallows Rock. They were supposed to be scouting, not attempting to take them on by themselves."

Kodlak first seemed surprised, then lowered his head to stare at the table. "I see... Your heart is full of grief, and my own weeps at this loss."

"How could they have been so foolish?" Vilkas went on - he was not able to keep the rising anger born of grief out of his voice. "They were there to see exactly how many were at that fort. They had to have known their numbers. Why did they not come back?"

"It is hard to say," Kodlak replied softly. "It is no business of mine what each Companion does in the name of honor, and the Silver Hand establishing themselves this close to us was a clear threat. But Aela knows better, and Skjor did as well."

Vilkas nodded; he rubbed both hands over his face, eyes squeezed closed. His head felt like such a mess. "I do not know what to do, master."

"I am nobody's master, Vilkas." Kodlak's tone was sharp.

"Apologies. It is - I haven't-" Vilkas paused, trying to pull his thoughts into order. "I have not been thinking clearly lately, or sleeping well. With everything else, I still hear the call of the blood."

Kodlak nodded slowly, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. "We all do. It is our burden to bear. But we can overcome."

"You have my brother and I, obviously...but I never believed that Aela or Skjor would go along easily. And now, it is not even a choice for Skjor."

A silence fell between them; in Vilkas's head he wanted to say so much more - not just give voice to his struggles with the blood or frustration, anger, and guilt over Skjor's death, but...there was Tormlia. His fear of her judgement, of her rejection of him. How he thought he felt and his confusion over these feelings he had when he was around her -- he craved a name for it, but had a feeling he already knew what it was and the thought frightened him.

There was just too much in his head and heart right now.

"-Skjor was a strong warrior," Kodlak said suddenly. "His heart carried a fire that served him well in battle, and I had hoped he would learn how to consider his actions. To survive long enough to take the mantle from me when I pass. Now...I worry for Aela. She will no doubt wish to avenge his death, as is right. But one poor decision will be all it takes to find herself suffering the same fate."

"I will try to help her," Vilkas said after a pause. "At least try to ensure she returns alive."

"She may not give you the chance," Kodlak sighed. "And mind that you do not also become lost on the path her heart is set on."

"Then what can I hope to do?"

"One should always be willing to stand beside their Shield Siblings but you cannot control her any more than I can. If she asks for your help or guidance, give it. Assist her as she'll let you...but don't throw your life away in the name of vengeance." With that Kodlak stood and went to return to his room; he paused in the doorway however and looked back to Vilkas. "I know you feel without direction. Honesty has a way of setting the soul free. All you need do is talk to her."

Vilkas nodded but it wasn't until Kodlak had shut his door that it occurred to him what the old man had meant and it brought no comfort to him.

Sleep refused to come and sitting in the mead hall left him restless; he eventually moved outside to one of the tables and for the first time in a long time watched the sun rise. He was still sitting at the table that afternoon when Tormlia came outside; she eyed him silently, then came over to sit on the bench beside him -- she sat with her back pressed to the table, able to look him in the face where he sat hunched over the table in front of him.

"What's wrong? You don't look well."

Here was exactly what he'd desired earlier and yet he couldn't bring himself to say anything; he sighed heavily and shook his head. She frowned but didn't push him, just stayed sitting silently beside him.

"You aren't sick, are you?" she asked into the silence some time later.

"At heart, perhaps," he answered. "A great many things weigh on me, one being the death of one of our own."

Her eyes widened a bit. "Oh, no. I'm sorry." Her shoulders slumped a bit and he immediately wished he could take the words back.

"Do not worry yourself for me."

"You look like you haven't slept at all, of course I'm going to worry." She shifted on the bench, sliding one leg over to straddle it, facing him. "Is there anything I can do?"

Vilkas shook his head, swallowing hard with his heart hammering, and then he felt like it stopped entirely when she reached over to rest a hand over his clasped on the table; she gently squeezed his hands and he looked to her in surprise.

"I know others would try to offer advice, or sympathize...I can't, really. Not when I've not had anyone I cared for until now. But whatever you might need from me, to help, I'm here."

Once the surprise of her hand on his wore off he processed what she'd actually said. "You- I know you've said you'd no love for your father. But there's never been anyone you've grieved for?"

She shook her head. "Not really. My brother was already ten when my mother had me -- because he was so much older we never grew close. When I heard he'd been killed... I guess you could say I was more upset about the lost chance to know him instead of the fact he was gone. And my father..." She blew out a long sigh. "-he wasn't...a good person. No one liked him even when he was sober. And he liked to blame me for my mother's death as often as he could. Sometimes by taking it out of my hide, especially if he was drunk."

"Only a coward hurts the defenseless." Vilkas held a large amount of disgust for the man but at the moment it was also difficult to feel anything other than a nervous giddiness -- her hand was still on top of his and he could easily turn his over, entwine his fingers with hers-

"He was a coward, and a drunkard, and not all that smart. I can't imagine what my mother might have seen in him - it's clear her death really changed him, but that didn't help with my situation at all. When he died he also left a rather large debt behind for me to pay as well...I had to sell the pathetic excuse for a farm we lived on before I came out here, looking for Kodlak."

Now it was his turn to look to her with concern. "You have nowhere to return to?"

She shrugged. "I know they would take me at the temple -- Maramal was actually insisting I stay, become a priestess and teach what I knew about the healing arts to any others seeking to join Mara's following. And the temple was basically my home anyway...I always snuck out as much as I could to go there and learn."

That really, really bothered him, for a multitude of reasons; when it came to Farkas and himself he'd always doubted that Jergen was their biological father and honestly he'd never really cared for the man either (not that he was there all that much) but at least Jergen had never been cruel to them, and they'd had the other Companions (and Tilma too) to turn to as they'd grown up under Jorrvaskr's roof.

"Was it a family member you lost?"

"In a way. His name was Skjor... He was not blood related to any here but that doesn't matter to any of us - if you are a Companion, you are family." He eyed her closely; the mention of family didn't seem to elicit any reaction from her.

Instead she shifted on the bench again; Vilkas felt a pang of disappointment as she moved her hands and went back to sitting as she had been earlier. "I don't want to...presume, or anything," she started, pausing to look at him. "But...when we heard about my brother, I found it helped to get away from home -- mostly because of my father's reaction but also because I wanted to get away from the things that reminded me of him. Do you think that would help you?"

"What...go for a walk?"

She nodded. "It helped me, but again -- I don't really know how to grieve. I understand others will find some things more comforting than others."

'I find YOU comforting,' he wanted to say. It wasn't...entirely true, he had to admit: part of what had his head so muddled was how she made him feel. And there was a small voice in his head insisting he needed to stay here, to keep an eye on and help Aela...but if she didn't want his help or direction then it wouldn't matter if he was here or not as she'd ignore him anyway.

"I- yes. I think I would enjoy a walk."

She smiled at him and stood; feeling a bit of warmth from within he stood and followed her.

\------------------------------

There were a lot of things Vilkas noticed in passing about the lands around Whiterun but until he had a reason to truly notice it or someone called his attention it didn't really register with him. In this instance it was the amount of tundra cotton that grew in the fields outside of Whiterun; now that he was paying attention to it it was actually sort of pretty to see all the white-flowered plants waving in the breeze.

Out this far the only sounds were their own footsteps and the whisper of the wind through the grasses; it was peaceful and he could almost relax as they slowly walked along (he was, of course, still worried that they were being watched by the Silver Hand). Every so often as they passed a clump that was tall enough for Tormlia to snag a handful of the cotton heads without needing to pause or duck down she'd pluck a few then pick out the seeds and slip them into her pocket.

The third or fourth time she did so he chuckled. "You cannot help yourself, can you?" He hoped his tone was light enough that she wouldn't think he was chiding her.

"The fluffy parts can be used in a lot of potions and also is used to make cloth," she explained with a smile. "But grind up the seeds and they stabilize almost any mixture you can think to add them to."

"Stabilize?"

"It..." she paused, searching for words. "Some medicines are thick or made of a lot of things that don't want to mix, that sometimes separate out if its left sitting for awhile. It doesn't really harm anything for it to separate but powdered cotton seeds will help keep that from happening. It just means you don't have to shake or mix it up again later." After dusting her hands of the fluffy fibers she gave him a smile. "Sorry. It's a habit - see something useful, grab it. You might need it later or at the very least can sell it to someone who does. It's not what we're here for though."

"I do not mind."

"I don't even have my bag, I really shouldn't."

They fell into a comfortable silence; Vilkas began to guide them north and back to Whiterun, taking a circuitous route that found them walking passed a tiny spring that fed into a very small creek. The creek was hardly more than a thin line of water surrounded with thick mud and only forty feet long, if that, and it ended in a wide, muddy pool that soaked in underneath a rocky shelf that was about knee-high to Vilkas. Together they skirted the mud and stepped up onto the shelf and into another stretch of tundra cotton.

"I'm surprised Whiterun isn't known for cloth making."

"It sits at the center of many trade routes. Most anything you could think of will eventually make its way through Whiterun in some form."

Tormlia nodded at him, her smile slowly fading to a more scrutinizing look. "How are you feeling?"

Vilkas took a deep breath -- he felt a lot of things right now. "Calmer," he lied after a pause. He supposed it wasn't a total lie...he did feel a bit better (though he attributed that to the company, not the walk itself). For one frightening, wild moment he thought of just getting it over with - emptying his heart and mind and letting her judge him as she would...but he couldn't bring himself to do it, and he didn't care for the fear of it either or knowing that the truth would have to come out sometime if he was ever going to be at peace with himself.

And admittedly it bothered him to lie. Kodlak's words from earlier about honesty came to mind...he just wasn't brave enough to act on it. Not right now.

When they stepped together through Jorrvaskr's doors he was surprised to find Aela waiting there.

"About time. I need your help, brother," she said - no greeting, just a request for assistance.

"All right." He turned an apologetic look to Tormlia; she nodded and continued on, disappearing down the stairs to leave him standing with Aela.

Aela watched her go then turned back to Vilkas with a raised eyebrow. "Where were you?"

"Clearing my head."

"Good," was Aela's reply. "I don't need you buried in grief. We're going hunting."

"Hunting what?" Vilkas asked, though he suspected he already knew the answer.

Aela didn't answer; she jerked her head toward the door and headed outside. With a heavy sigh Vilkas went to follow her -- while his walk with Tormlia had eased his grief he was wishing it had made up for the missed sleep as well.


	5. Chapter 5

As he'd suspected they were hunting more Silver Hand -- specifically, they were hunting the stragglers that had escaped Gallows Rock.

These were men and women who saw the Companions as little more than mongrels to be put down and they'd never stopped to determine if a captured member actually carried the beast blood; Vilkas still remembered some younger members in the past that had been killed by the Silver Hand who had barely spent a month within Jorrvaskr. He despised them and did agree with killing or running them off wherever possible, if only to protect those who were of innocent blood...but he couldn't help but feel a shred of anger still toward Aela as well -- if she and Skjor had just come back for help then maybe he wouldn't be beside her now to avenge him.

It was clear that these survivors of Gallows Rock were not prepared for their immediate retaliation; Vilkas almost pitied them, but not enough to spare them. They had set up camp about a half day's walk from Gallows Rock to the north in the shadow of a cliffside which amounted to little more than a firepit and a few bedrolls. There were only nine Silver Hand there and three were visibly injured -- none of them that tried running could avoid Aela's bow and even exhausted as he was Vilkas still had no trouble cutting down any that couldn't get out of his way.

"Was that all of them?"

Aela carefully scaled down the side of the cliff and stood at his side (she was clearly admiring his kills) and gave him a curt nod. "That's all of them."

"Good," he muttered. The exhaustion was really setting in and he didn't think he would have been able to run anyone down; at least being this tired somewhat silenced the beast inside him and he was relatively unbothered by the scent of fresh blood or the rush of battle. "Let us return to Jorrvaskr then. Skjor's spirit has been avenged."

Aela nodded but he noticed her attention lingered on the dead longer than it should have, though there wasn't any real reason to scold her; he turned his back to the carnage and took a deep breath - all he wanted was to be home asleep but that was several days away. They left without fanfare and about halfway back Aela cleared her throat.

"So who exactly is that woman again?"

"She is kin to Kodlak."

"But how?"

"His great grandfather courted a woman he did not know was already married, and sired a child on her. He left to spare her and her husband's honor and never went back."

Aela made a thoughtful noise. "She has been around often, I hear."

"Aye," Vilkas replied. He thought to elaborate but then, with as tired as he felt, he decided not to unless pressed.

"Around you a lot, too."

He shot her a sharp look. "What are you implying?"

Aela snorted and rolled her eyes at him. "You're blind if you think no one else has noticed. It was the first thing Athis and Torvar mentioned."

His mouth went dry but he fought to keep his expression steady. "And? She is a skilled mender, I have learned much from her-"

"-you're as far from a mender as I am the throne."

"Even still. I enjoy her company, and the time spent listening to Kodlak's stories. My not being a mender does not mean what I learn is useless, nor that it's impossible to be her friend."

"Vilkas. You've never been the sort to just make friends. It took years for you to warm up to Skjor and I. You keep a clear line between yourself and the rest of the new bloods with your temper, and you don't go out of your way to seek anyone's company but your brother's." She looked over at him. "Suddenly all that's changed?"

"Don't be foolish," he muttered. He sped up his pace with an irritated grunt. "You look for meaning that isn't there."

"It just seems out of character for you."

He stopped and spun on a heel to fix her with a glare. "You are the last person who should be lecturing anyone on their actions, Aela. Watch yourself, sister."

She stopped too; her expression was one of mild indifference but by the way she gripped the hilt of her dagger Vilkas could tell he'd made her angry. "And just what does that mean?"

"You and Skjor were supposed to be scouting. You should have come back for help but you didn't and now Skjor is dead. You both knew better."

"We DID scout and it was within what we could handle!"

"Then how did Skjor die? How did so many escape?"

Aela went silent, lips pressed together in a thin line; after a few tense minutes she blew out a sigh and turned her face from him. "There was a hidden entrance we couldn't have possibly seen unless we were inside or directly on top of it. It wasn't our fault."

Vilkas let out a noisy exhale that was half growl. "Then how many were there?"

"We thought just fifteen. It was closer to thirty when we actually got in there, and by the time we realized it it was too late to retreat." She fixed Vilkas with an empty look. "If we had known about the hidden entrance we could have used that to go in and it would have been easier to retreat through it after."

"It hardly matters now," Vilkas grunted. He turned and started walking again; his head was pounding with that type of headache one got when they were on the brink of total exhaustion and his limbs felt like lead. "Skjor is gone but avenged, and the Silver Hand's little establishment is wiped out."

"They won't be allowed to get that close again," he heard Aela mutter.

They walked until Vilkas couldn't stand it anymore then spent an uneasy night sitting in a copse of trees; he couldn't quite allow himself to fall asleep and only felt slightly better once he'd dozed a bit. At the first sign of sunrise they started off again and did not stop until they'd reached Whiterun. Vilkas tried to keep from stumbling as he climbed the stairs to Jorrvaskr and fell in through the door; he was met with a few concerned looks but those Companions sitting in the mead hall (perhaps wisely) didn't say anything as he and Aela headed down the stairs.

Farkas was on the other side of the door and stood aside to let them pass.

"You look awful."

Vilkas simply nodded at his twin's observation and staggered toward his room. Farkas followed along behind him and made certain he made it into his bed, then blew out the candle left burning on the dresser and shut the door behind him. 

After days of terrible (or no) sleep the quiet darkness was a blessing and Vilkas felt asleep quickly but tonight his dreams mocked and horrified him.

He dreamed of Tormlia and the Underforge; there was a flash of a blade as he drew it over the crook of his elbow and bled what seemed like an impossible amount into the basin that stood there in the middle of the claustrophobic space. Tormlia drank it and they left together, forms rippling and changing as they leapt in unison over the walls of Whiterun and tore across the plains at a sprint. They came upon an unfortunate elk and tore it to pieces, reveling in the meat and gore, then he'd flipped her to her stomach and taken her right there, rutting in the blood and the mud-

When he jerked awake he almost toppled from his bed -- he'd moved to the very edge in his sleep and managed to catch himself with his hands on the floor while his legs stayed on the bed. His heart was hammering in his chest and he felt sick to his stomach which was made worse when he realized he'd awakened aroused and...messy.

He would never, NEVER, think of letting Tormlia take the blood. And the rutting...his mind had given it such a beastly, primal sound - he'd never heard anything like it before in his life and questioned where his mind could have dreamed up such a hideous noise. It was by far the worst nightmare he'd ever had and it took him an hour or two to calm down enough to drag himself out of his bed and clean himself up. When he left his room he could smell her nearby then heard Kodlak's voice and her gentle laugh; he immediately pressed himself back into the doorway of his room. 

While he was still horrified at the exact imagery of his nightmare the underlying tone of it was crystal clear, and it frightened him enough that he couldn't force himself to step out into the hallway where she could see him and he could see her; instead he retreated back into his room and shut the door, dropping into a chair at the table in the corner and first propping his elbows on the wood and then his head in his hands.

He was in love - it could be nothing else - and he couldn't bring himself to tell her -- who could possibly love a beast like him?

\------------------------------------------------

Vilkas was back to feeling nervous and uneasy around Tormlia; it had been over a week but the nightmare (THE nightmare - the worst one ever) was something he had yet to fully banish from his mind and each time he looked at her he could see the blood dribbling down her chin, the transformation, their shared hunt -- like some kind of perverse mating ritual. He took a pair of jobs that took him away from Jorrvaskr for several days at a time but the distance didn't ease his soul any; no matter what he did it was still fresh on his mind, and he was gripped in a constant fear of what she would do or say if she found out about his werewolf curse.

The one thing that cut through his inner turmoil however was noticing that Aela had disappeared from Jorrvaskr - she had to have left sometime very soon after he had, or maybe right before he'd come back from the first job. No one seemed to know where she'd gone and none seemed overly worried either...for some reason it worried Vilkas and he couldn't place why.

He did still accompany Tormlia outside of Whiterun's walls; they were starting to travel further out, especially out into the wooded areas to the south. 

Today the sky was overcast, the day gloomy and the smell of a storm on the wind. They were picking their way among the trees - she kept searching among the bases of trees, but not any tree in particular that Vilkas could determine.

"What do we search for?" he finally asked.

Tormlia stood up from where she'd dropped to her knees among the upraised roots of a pine. "-it's a sort of...moss, or lichen. I'm not sure which it actually is but it's a pale green that looks like this-" she scraped her nails over the growths on the tree bark and pulled a small strip of some kind of crusty looking plant free. "Same coloration, sort of. But the one I'm looking for has very tiny purple flower-looking things - they're kind of shaped like tiny hands." She held up her free hand, fingers held together and her thumb sticking out over her palm. "Petals like this, the little pollen part sticking up between the "thumb" and the fingers."

"I have not see anything purple."

She sighed heavily and tossed the peeled lichen to the ground. "I know...it's irritating, but I guess not too surprising. It can grow anywhere in Skyrim, on any tree, and it's highly valuable."

Vilkas scanned the trees around him and saw no hint of purple but plenty more of that washed out, pale green. "What is it for?"

"The flowers sort of...bring out the potency in a lot of medicines and salves. A small bit of them and you can even get away with using half the amount of the rest of the ingredients without losing strength, assuming you infuse it correctly. I was hoping that I could find even just a little bit to see if it makes a difference..." She trailed off, glancing at him then quickly looking elsewhere.

It had to be for whatever potions she'd been providing Kodlak; he wondered at what might afflict the elder -- Kodlak hadn't seemed sick, just...old. Aging. And while he knew there were potions to help with the various ailments that aging brought to the body he hadn't noticed or ever heard Kodlak voice problems with it.

"I understand now in the literal sense what it is used for," he said slowly, carefully picking his words. "But, what is it _for?"_

For a long moment she remained still, then slowly turned her head to look back to him. "It's not my business to say. But, I swear I'm going to do what I can for the person it's for."

She said it with a determination and a steely gaze that wasn't so much looking at him as it was through him; Vilkas decided not to press the issue and continued to follow in her wake, keeping a watchful eye on their surroundings. It was already dark when they finally returned to Whiterun and he knew she was highly disappointed that they'd returned empty handed. As they passed through the market her steps turned toward the inn; before he could stop himself he'd reached out to grab her sleeve, stopping her.

She turned around to fix him with a questioning look; he floundered a bit under her gaze. "You- come take your evening meal with us. In Jorrvaskr. There's no reason you should be wasting your coin here."

"I don't feel I really belong there among all you warriors," she replied, giving him a faint smile.

"You are kin to Kodlak and- and friend to me," he added, swallowing hard. "No one will question your presence. I promise you."

She was silent, considering it, then to his relief she nodded. "All right. I guess."

She walked behind him as they returned to Jorrvaskr; once inside the mead hall the smell of roast mutton hit them. Most nights they fended for themselves but fairly often Tilma was kind enough to cook them dinner -- it was usually something simple like a roast or stew. There weren't two empty seats next to one another so Vilkas took his usual corner seat while Tormlia moved to the far side of the table across from him and slid into a chair beside Kodlak.

Something about the smell of the meat turned his stomach; he kept to bread and cheese and quietly watched Tormlia and Kodlak - he couldn't quite make out anything they were saying over the chatter of everyone else. When she got up to leave later he nodded to her and she smiled to him before disappearing through the door.

With her gone he found his attention wandering and it occurred to him that Aela wasn't here again; as before something about it bothered him but he couldn't figure out what. It shouldn't feel unusual to him for her to be absent (they all took jobs without much input from one another - it was a common thing) but considering the events of the last several weeks...

He tried to put it out of his mind but much like everything else it was something of a losing battle; later, while sitting listlessly at the table in his room he heard a thud at his door and turned to find Farkas in his doorway, leaning against the door frame.

"You haven't been acting like yourself," he said simply. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong."

Farkas snorted. "Even I can tell you're lying."

Vilkas inhaled through his nose and out his mouth. "Fine. Yes. I am bothered by many things. I'd rather not speak of them at the moment."

His brother grunted but didn't move from the door. Vilkas turned back to the table, hands clenched on top of it; he was very aware of his brother's gaze and he had the feeling that Farkas wasn't going to leave until he got something out of him.

He huffed out a sigh finally. "Fine. Skjor's death weighs on me. And Aela's absence has me worried."

His brother came in to drop into the empty chair on the other side of the table. "She's been gone awhile. Left not too long after you did."

Vilkas frowned, not at all pleased that his suspicions were partly correct. "Did she say where she was going?"

"No."

"Of course not," Vilkas grunted. "I hate that I am suspicious of what she may be doing." They were both silent for a long time before Vilkas sighed again. "Has there been word of the Silver Hand at all?"

"Not that I've heard. Between Gallows Rock and the camp you and Aela cleared out we've killed a good number of them. And if they try to get that close again we'll kill those too."

He could appreciate his twin's simple solutions to things at times. "If they are smart they will stay far away."

"Yeah. But they're not smart."

"I'm afraid that you may be right."

Farkas sat in silence with him for awhile; it was incredibly late when Vilkas decided to try sleep. His brother left for his own room and then he laid there in the dark, alone, wondering what sort of nightmare his mind would present him with tonight.

\------------------------------------------

"I work to avenge Skjor's death."

Aela's voice was sharp and loud - loud enough to wake Vilkas through his shut door. He rolled over, feeling groggy and unnerved by a dream he (thankfully) couldn't clearly recall; Kodlak's voice was just as loud.

"His death was avenged long ago. You have taken more lives than honor demanded. You know better."

"We cannot let these hunters establish another foothold."

"We both know that is not what you are doing. Do not mistake foolhardiness for bravery or you'll find yourself back with Skjor."

Vilkas stood from his bed and opened his door in time to see Aela pass by the hall's opening, then he heard the door shut and her footsteps heading up the stairs into the mead hall. He stuck his head around the corner to see Kodlak staring after her, a deep disappointment evident on his face that disappeared as he noticed Vilkas.

"What has she done?"

"Gotten caught up in the hunt, and in her vengeance," came Kodlak's answer.

Vilkas briefly glanced to where she'd disappeared through the door. "Was there any truth to her words? Are the Silver Hand really so foolish as to try and get so close again, so soon after we've wiped out their last foothold?"

"It is possible but we've no way of knowing unless someone goes with her to see." Kodlak sighed, rubbing at his beard and suddenly looking much older. "She takes to the blood too readily."

Vilkas let out a sigh himself and returned to his room to get his armor back on; he met Tormlia on the stairs and got a kind smile that managed to slightly raise his mood, only for it to sour moments later. Feeling angry and disappointed with himself he went out to the training yard and took some of his frustrations out on a dummy and then later Njada with a sparring session.

He purposely avoided going back downstairs until late that evening when he knew Tormlia would be gone and climbed into his bed without any real desire to sleep...so he was awake when he heard a sudden surge of footsteps upstairs followed by a shout for help.

For once he was thankful that, more often than not, he fell into his bed fully armored; he was up in an instant and reaching for his weapon, then shoving his way through his door and out into the hall only to meet a rush of...people. People he didn't recognize but were clearly not friendly as the large Nord male at the front of the rush swung a great sword at him; Vilkas ducked aside and by how the blade flashed in the candlelight he instantly knew it to be a silver blade.

'The Silver Hand? Here?' 

There was no time to consider how it was possible for the Silver Hand to have gotten into Whiterun in such numbers -- they were under attack and that was the only important thing right now.

\------------------------------------------------------

The night air still stank of blood, even outside of Jorrvaskr.

Vilkas could see the guards that helped the others carry out the corpses; they were so much background movement and noise - something he saw and heard but didn't really register. He was sick to his stomach and sick at heart, and...angry. So, so angry. That the Silver Hand had gotten brave enough to attack them here, in Jorrvaskr...

And they had taken so much.

He tilted his face to the sky and took a deep breath...then his heart stopped as he caught the scent of rain; he looked down and could see Tormlia hurrying up the stairs toward him.

"Tormlia-"

"What's happened? Sinmir woke the entire inn up saying Jorrvaskr-"

Moving quickly Vilkas stepped into her path; she went to move around him and he moved with her, grabbing her by the arms.

"-was attacked," she finished, looking at him in surprise when he seized her.

"You need to stay here."

"What happened? Is anyone injured?" She squirmed in his grasp and her look of confusion was slowly turning into one of irritation - at him.

"Tormlia. You need to stay out here," Vilkas said slowly, hardly able to keep his voice steady.

She stared into his face, eyes narrowing; her struggles against his grasp resumed. "Let go, Vilkas."

She almost slipped free; in a sort of panic he grabbed at her again and snagged her around the waist, crushing her to him. She immediately started beating at his arms and hands and kicking her heels into his shins but he kept hold as she struggled. "Tormlia, please, listen-" He wasn't prepared for her to suddenly slap her hands to his arms and send that calming spell into him. As he relaxed his grip loosened and she pulled free as he sank to his knees, drowsy and unable to stand -- the last thing he saw was Tormlia's angry expression as she buried him under that spell and put him fully to sleep.

\-----------------------------------------

"Who will start?"

"I'll do it. Before the ancient flame...we grieve."

"We grieve."

"At this loss...we weep."

"We weep."

"For the fallen...we shout."

"We shout."

"And for ourselves...we take our leave."

"We take our leave."

At the front of the gathering Aela stood with a torch, and at the end of the prayer she stepped forward to thrust the torch into the stacked wood of Kodlak's pyre. The flames caught and began to steadily burn; that the smell of burning meat and hair was someone he loved and respected cut deeply and he couldn't bring himself to watch as the pyre burned down.

Many in Whiterun had come to the funeral and when Vilkas turned around he saw that there was still a rather large gathering but that people were slowly staring to disperse...and, he felt a surge of alarm when he could not see Tormlia among them but could somehow still catch a whiff of her scent as the breeze shifted. When finally most of the crowd had left he spotted her -- the Skyforge had a wide area paved with flat stones but it was edged with rough stone outcrops and she was perched on the edge of one of them sitting with her knees pulled to her chest and hunched over, pulled into as small a form as she could manage.

The outcrop wasn't large enough to sit by her; Vilkas stood behind her feeling his heart and stomach twisting but cleared his throat. "Tormlia..."

Her shoulders were shaking and he heard a quiet sniffle.

"...I'm sorry," was all he said after. He turned his back to her and sat down on the outcrop's back half.

The pyre had died down and fallen down into the forge - he wasn't brave enough to look and see what may remain of Kodlak within it - when he heard the scuff of a boot on the stone and turned to find Tormlia standing right behind him. Her eyes were red and she looked...empty, and defeated.

"May I ask you something?"

"Anything," he said quietly. His armor scraped against the stone as he stood, turning to face her fully.

She stared over his shoulder at the dying fire then moved her empty gaze back to him. "W-when I first came here I gave Kodlak a book with my family's bloodline and history in it... I'd like to retrieve it before I leave, but I don't want anyone to think I'm stealing."

"Leave?" he repeated, eyes widening. In truth that was all that had really registered with him. "You can't - you can't leave."

An anger cut through the emptiness and she narrowed her eyes at him. "You can't hold me prisoner."

"That's- no, that's not-- I didn't mean it like that," he replied quickly. "It's just - why? Don't leave. Not like this."

Her angry look softened but into something like suspicion. "Kodlak was the only family I had left. And now he's gone. Nothing holds me here."

"Don't leave. Please."

'Tell her,' came the thought.

"I'm no Companion. I don't belong here. I never have."

"Please do not leave."

'Tell her. Tell her everything.'

"Why? What reason should I stay?"

'Tell her. Tell her right now.'

'She'll hate me.'

"Kodlak...he was our family too. You are our family now."

She let out a bitter laugh. "Please. None but you and Kodlak cared I was here. I don't belong here, Vilkas."

"Please don't go."

In his mind he sounded desperate and pathetic, and the need to tell her everything -- how he felt, what afflicted him, everything -- warred with the fear of her scorn and judgement and the fear that she would leave and he'd never see her again.

She was staring at him with an expression he couldn't read, waiting for his reasoning...and the words wouldn't come.

'Tell her, now!'

'She will hate what I am.'

'Just tell her!'

'Why should she even look twice at me? How could she care for a monster?'

'Tell her now or you'll lose her-'

'-I will lose her anyway if she knows.'

"No one will challenge you," he whispered, looking away. "If they do, I will handle them."

As the words left him his heart sank, and disappointment crossed her features. She nodded though and stepped around him; he could hear her soft footsteps going down the hill toward Jorrvaskr. As the sun began to rise he remained standing there - he couldn't even be certain what he was feeling...so much was warring in his head right now. Anger. Loss. Disappointment. Fear. Emptiness, and with a keen sense of failure that was a hard knot in his gut.

For a time there was just silence save for the final pops of the smoldering funeral pyre; finally he heard the sounds of Whiterun stirring -- he'd stood there all night, silent and still, and grieving for so many things.

But as the sun finally hit him he felt...a sudden stirring. Something cutting through the grief and the fear: the need for truth. Withholding the truth was the same as a lie and it pained him to keep lying to her, and if she was going to leave anyway...why should he fear telling her the truth of things?

No... No. He couldn't let her leave without telling her everything. If anything...she at least deserved to know the truth of Kodlak, the family she had come looking for. Let her learn the man he was, what he struggled with, and what his final wish had been that he'd never have now.

He hurried into Jorrvaskr but she was nowhere to be found; rushing out of the hall he then ran down to the market -- Ysolda was kind enough to confirm that yes, she'd seen Tormlia come this way and that she'd continued to the gate without stopping. He'd thanked her and ran onward through the small residential area and out through the gates; when he reached the stables he stopped to catch his breath - her scent wasn't that strong here and he didn't see her near. Movement to his left drew his eye; a Nord man with stringy dark hair and beard was moving in the stalls of the stables.

"You there-" Vilkas called out to the man. He'd seen him countless times but had never asked the man's name. "Did you see a black haired woman with blue eyes come this way?"

"I did - she was out here early this morning as Bjorlam was hitching his horse to the carriage. Seemed in a hurry to leave."

Carriage...damn. She would be moving faster than he could on foot and he doubted the stables would be willing to lend a horse. At the very least the carriage would stick to the roads so he wouldn't be trying to find her in a forest or...or anywhere else.

Vilkas muttered a thanks and hurried down the road; the breeze had blown away any hint of her scent out here but if she was...actually, she hadn't said where she was going. Would she return to Riften? To the temple? It was the only thing he could think of but he didn't want to find her there, he wanted to catch her before she got too far from Whiterun...

There was a place where the road out of Whiterun split, running to the east and west. Riften was to the southeast, and-

For one reckless, stupid moment Vilkas nearly threw caution aside and went to change forms right there, to hell with whoever might see him; the carriage wasn't something he could hope to catch on foot - a horse could go for much longer than he could, as a man...but as a beast...

A sound stopped him; it was the sound of wagon wheels on the stone road, and in the far distance in the east Vilkas could spy the carriage...but, it was coming back toward Whiterun. For a moment he felt his heart lift - was she coming back after all? He rushed down the road to the carriage and darted to the side to avoid spooking the horse; the carriage driver yelled something at him but Vilkas ignored it and hurried to the rear, only to see the carriage was empty.

"Were you hired by a black haired, blue eyed woman?"

The carriage had come to a halt and the driver dropped down; he did not look pleased with him. 

"Aye, I did. And then she wanted off and to go the other direction. Took forever to find a place to turn around without tossing a wheel."

Other direction? West? What was to the west? Why would she go that way? "Did she say why?"

"No. 'least she didn't demand her coin back. Now unless you need a ride yourself I want you clear of my carriage, understand?"

Vilkas muttered something that sounded like an acknowledgement and stood there in the road, confused, as the carriage moved off. Riften was to the east...why would she go west?

And if she was going on foot...maybe he could catch her. If he...

He could catch her if he changed into a beast, and he could hardly believe he was considering this again; the desperation to catch up with her won out over his hesitation to answer his blood but at least this time he had the sense to not change forms in the open. His attention turned to the south and the thick woods that were at the base of the mountains there -- if he could get among the trees he could change without anyone seeing, and even if he was seen afterward he was incredibly fast as a wolf.

No one could hope to catch him. No one could stop him.

He sprinted for the trees, not caring if the carriage man noticed him; within the safety of the forest he gave in to the blood and changed, lifting his head to sniff the air. There was no hint of her scent but there was also no hint of danger either; it was good enough for him -- he took off at a maddened sprint through the trees, heading west. He would pick up her scent as he grew closer.

Whiterun had disappeared behind him when he finally smelled her...but mingled with her scent was a metallic one he knew well.

Silver.

'Not here. Not now.'

He pushed himself to run even faster -- he was slavering at the mouth and feeling ready to vomit when he skidded to a stop at the base of three pines that had grown together; he could hear jeering, and the sounds of struggle, and Tormlia's voice pleading with someone to go away.

Slowly, cautiously, Vilkas lifted his head to scent the air, then peered around the trio of pines -- he could see nothing from here but rustling bushes in the breeze - the road was not visible; he crept closer, keeping low to the ground and trying to get his panting under control. Nearer to the road he found a fallen log he could slide beneath, laying there hidden among ivy and dead leaves, and the cramped quarters helped him rein in his sudden surge of anger and instinct when he finally spied the struggle he could hear.

Tormlia was standing in a ring of men and women - all were brandishing silver blades and nasty smiles as the circle tightened slowly.

"Leave me alone - I don't know what you want!"

"This is one of them, right?"

"Aye - I've seen her in and out of there on the daily."

Vilkas's control over himself slipped and he rammed his head on the underside of the log; the group of Silver Hand didn't hear the thump and rustling of leaves, or otherwise didn't care -- their attention was on Tormlia, and they moved in until they were all standing shoulder to shoulder, completely surrounding the woman.

"What do you want?" Tormlia asked desperately.

An orc broke free of the circle; he was a huge male, a head and a half taller than Tormlia and heavily muscled, and held a dagger with a strangely curved blade that glinted bright silver in the sunlight.

"One less monster in the world," the orc growled. He advanced on Tormlia, blade lifted.

Inside his head he was screaming - he needed to get down there, to rescue her, but his beastly form's instincts were shouted down by his logical side; even if he were to rush in to save her right now there were too many for him to take on alone -- he counted thirteen from his vantage point and he couldn't rule out that there might be some in the trees or standing somewhere he couldn't see from here.

If he charged in now they'd just die together. 

It tore at him - he'd never felt so helpless. Out of sheer frustration he threw his head back and howled.

Down on the road the orc flinched and spun around, staring into the trees. The other Silver Hand likewise turned their attention outward at the howl, immediately tense and on the alert; Tormlia attempted to take advantage of their distraction and charged at an Imperial woman in lighter armor than the rest but the woman quickly recovered from Tormlia's shove and kicked out at her legs. Tormlia hit the ground on her stomach and scrabbled to get to her feet only to collapse as the Imperial woman aimed a steel-toed kick into her ribs; the orc tore his attention from the forest and moved over to grab Tormlia by the hair, bodily lifting her from the ground.

"New plan - seems they're coming for their new pup." He spun around and threw Tormlia into the waiting arms of two others, then once they'd wrestled with her and gotten her turned around to face the orc he slammed his fist first into her gut then into her temple; Vilkas almost darted out from under the log again at the sight of her falling limp in their grasp and he had to keep reminding himself to remain calm and remain in place.

'Recklessly charging in will get us both killed,' he told himself again and again, and watched helplessly as one of them threw Tormlia over their shoulder and together the group of Silver Hand moved down the road and then abruptly turned north and began to cross the plains.

And so began his hunt; for days he stalked them from the darkness, letting them walk freely in the day time and quickly tracking them and catching up once night fell. Every time he approached their camp he prayed he would see an opening -- some moment, some weakness, that would allow him to either strike and kill them all or at least rescue Tormlia and flee...but each night a rotating group of eight of them stood guard, awake and alert, and they kept Tormlia bound and gagged in the middle of the camp well out of his reach.

For the first time in a long time Vilkas was relying entirely on his altered form; he hunted small game only if it was in his path, he stayed within the form when he rested during the day, and at night his dark fur made him indistinguishable from the shadows he prowled in. It disgusted him that he'd taken to it so quickly again after not having transformed in months...but the disgust with himself could wait. For now this was a tool - the only tool he had - to save Tormlia and he couldn't afford to hesitate or stop to consider what consequences he might personally encounter for this momentary embracing of the damned blood.

The further north they traveled the higher up the mountains they climbed; Vilkas's black fur stood out terribly against the white snow and he was having to fall further and further back during the day to avoid being seen. It was maddening but he comforted himself with the thought that so long as he didn't lose the scent it didn't matter if it he was ten feet or ten miles behind them - he would find them.

At last, after a week's hard march, they came upon a squat, square stone building; there were three Silver Hand standing guard outside and they quickly opened the door for the returning group.

From where Vilkas crouched behind a wide tree trunk he heard the orc order the others to get the "bait" inside and secured, and to get the entire base on alert. All but those three that had been standing guard outside quickly hurried through the door and disappeared inside.

Tormlia was now effectively out of his reach.

Finally he let his form slip away and knelt as a man in the snow; his throat was raw, his chest and legs aching in a way he'd never felt before, and he was sick with fear for her safety -- they had called her bait so he was...reasonably...certain they wouldn't kill her, but he would need to travel back to Jorrvaskr for help, and then return here. It had taken a week to get here meaning she would be in their clutches for two weeks at minimum before he'd be able to get back here with help.

With his heart breaking he turned from the crumbling fort and let himself slip between forms again; he had to get back to Jorrvaskr, and quickly. As he sprinted down the mountain and tore through the trees he slowly loosened his hold on his anger and without it reined in the bestial side of him took over -- it didn't care for HOW he got to Jorrvaskr, only that he did, and at least the anger helped fuel his aching limbs as he cut a direct path back southwest to where he knew Whiterun to be.

When he came within sight of the city he changed back to a man, and once he reached the gates he collapsed into the arms of a guard that had reached out to grab him as he'd started to fall, and as he'd slipped into unconsciousness he prayed he'd recover quickly. He had to.


	6. Chapter 6

He woke in his own bed, stripped to his undershirt and pants; with a start he jerked upright, head swimming, and as he was swinging his legs free of his bed a movement in the corner drew his attention.

"What do you think you're doing?" came Farkas's voice as he stood up from his seat at the corner table.

"Where is Aela?"

"You're in no shape to be getting out of bed. What were you even doing?"

"I said, where is Aela?" Vilkas growled. He rose up from the bed and let his gaze roam around the room, looking for his armor; it was piled in a heap near the table where Farkas stood, and when he went to grab the chest piece Farkas reached out to grab him by the wrist and yank him away from it.

"Get back into bed."

"Let go." He tried to pull his wrist free; the exhaustion was still present and every little movement he made was agonizing -- he simply did not have the strength to pull free of his brother's grip. "I mean it, brother. Let go."

With a grunt Farkas obeyed; Vilkas swayed a bit, huffing, and went to slowly strap his armor on.

"Find Aela and tell her to meet us in the Underforge."

"Why?"

"Just do it," Vilkas snapped. His brother's expression flickered to one of mild annoyance coupled with confusion but after a pause he turned and left.

It was a struggle to get his armor on; his fingers were numb, his limbs so heavy...everything hurt so badly.

'How long was I out?' he wondered, feeling a deep fear like a shard of ice impaled through his stomach. 'What have they done to her by now?' He didn't want to think about it.

No one else was awake as he dragged himself upstairs and out into the night - at the very least he assumed he'd been asleep half a day and he hoped it was no longer than that; the hidden door to the Underforge opened easily beneath his hand and he fell inside. At the sight of the basin in its center his stomach lurched with the memory of his worst nightmare but he quickly shoved it down and wearily leaned on the nearest circular stone table - one of three that had been carved from the rock of the Underforge itself. A few minutes later the door groaned open again to let Aela and Farkas inside; Vilkas remained silent as the door slid shut and they moved passed him into the hidden chamber.

"What's this about, Vilkas?" Aela asked into the silence. "You ran yourself to death to get back here, you shouldn't even be out of bed right now -- you look like you could keel over at any moment."

"I don't care," he growled. "I need your help. The Silver Hand have Tormlia."

Both Aela's and Farkas's eyes widened in surprise.

"How?" his brother asked. "We killed every one of them that came in here."

Aela nodded at Farkas. "-and I know I cleared out the camps."

Vilkas's expression darkened as he looked to Aela, fixing her with a glare. "Yes. I know you did. That's why we are even in this situation."

Now it was her turn to glare at him. "What? You are blaming ME for the Silver Hand's attack?"

"Yes, I am. Skjor's death was an unfortunate mistake, and we avenged him as is proper. But you kept going. You kept hunting. You took more lives than was right. And that provoked them to attack us here and it cost us Kodlak and the shards of Wuuthrad. And you weren't even thorough enough to notice them gathering to the west." Aela's expression was growing angrier with each word but Vilkas could not bring himself to care. "The morning after Kodlak's funeral Tormlia left Whiterun. She was supposed to be going home...the Silver Hand took her off the road. I witnessed it. And I followed them to their stronghold, far to the northeast of here in the mountains. She's being held captive -- as bait, to lure us in. Your provocations may well cost us her life, too."

The severity of the situation was gradually reaching Aela through her anger; she blew out a steadying breath and the rage went with it, leaving behind a grim and thoughtful look. "They knew she was associated with us, and knows we'll come to rescue her." She leaned forward on the basin, resting the heels of her palms on its edge and staring down into the bowl. "-where did you say they went?"

"Northeast. There was a fort out there - short, close to the ground, likely extending deep into the mountain. I followed thirteen of them back and there were three at the door." His shoulders slumped at the memory and the gut wrenching feeling of helplessness. "...how long was I out?"

"Four days," came Farkas's quiet answer.

Vilkas looked up sharply. "You lie."

"I'm not. You scared the hell out of that guard."

Four days...no, no no. That was four wasted days, damn it. He shoved himself to his feet, keeping a hand on the stone beneath him to steady himself. "Grab your weapons and lets go. We cannot let them hold one of our own."

\-------------------------------------------------------

As his return run had been a frenzied sprint and was a jumbled memory Vilkas had little choice but to lead Farkas and Aela around the long way, on the path he'd stalked the Silver Hand from. They found Tormlia's dropped bag that he'd missed the first time and took it with them; Vilkas rested as much as he could (and as much as his mind would allow) each time they stopped for the night but it was difficult to find any rest when he knew the Silver Hand could be doing gods knew what to Tormlia now.

Then finally, a week after they'd left Jorrvaskr, they could spy the faint orange glow of a torch ahead that highlighted the forms of four figures standing outside the squat little fort's entrance.

The twins held back as Aela crept forward - between the three of them she was the least likely to be spotted - as the snow blew in gusts around them. She was gone for some time then they heard the whisper of her boots in the snow and there she was, climbing back over the rock outcrop to drop between them.

"Well?"

"There's just four at the front and the building is solid - no windows bigger than a slit, no other doors, nothing on the roof. And no way of telling how many are inside." 

Vilkas could see her turn toward him; the wind was howling but moonlight was peeking through a break in the clouds, lighting where they stood just enough that he could make out her shape in general but couldn't read her face. "We haven't much choice. We cannot allow them to hold her captive or kill her."

"Then how do you want to go about this?"

"Can you take the guards at the front without alerting them too much?"

Aela tilted her head toward the top of the outcrop, staring off in the direction of the guards that weren't visible from here. "I could, technically. But the moment the first one drops the other three are going to know something's wrong."

"We have to risk it. If Farkas and I come out of the woods they will immediately know we've come for her...but if an arrow from the darkness takes them there is a chance - however small - that they might come out to us."

"If that's how you want to try it."

Vilkas nodded grimly. "There is no possible way to get inside without alerting anyone -- our best chance is to strike quickly here without revealing ourselves."

With another nod Aela went back over the rocks and disappeared into the gloom and swirling snow; Vilkas gestured for Farkas to stay put and very, very carefully edged around the rocks and stuck his head out just enough to keep the guard on the far left in view -- he didn't dare move out further or he'd be spotted against the snow. Time passed, the guards didn't really mill about idly but they didn't remain completely still either; Vilkas remained still and kept his eyes on the guard he could see so he immediately noticed when that guard stiffened and quickly stepped from his line of sight.

"Kovlen?"

"We're under-"

With the wind blowing it was difficult to hear anything but those were the only sounds from the guards that Vilkas heard; after several moments of silence and without any guards moving back into his view Vilkas stepped out from behind the rocks and surveyed the four dead guards -- Aela's shots were eerily precise and each of them had a arrow in the heart or in the throat. He nodded back to Farkas and his brother stood to follow him to where Aela was rummaging through the pockets of the dead guards, eventually producing a large iron key with irregular teeth that unlocked the fort's door.

Just inside the door was a square room approximately the same dimensions the building had appeared to be from the outside; there was only firewood and straw, and a single burning brazier, as well as a pair of spikes that had severed werewolf heads impaled on them -- the grisly trophies stood to either side of a door beyond which was a set of stairs leading down that then took a hard left, then another right. They were cramped and crumbling, and offered no visibility or hint as to what was around their corners.

vilkas eyed them warily, then took a breath of the stinking air and pulled his shield from his back. "Mind your shots and stay quiet. Let's go."

The narrow staircase led down to a landing in a wide, open room, at the top of yet another set of stairs that led down to a hallway directly ahead as well as one to the left; there were a pair of tables to either side of the hallway ahead of them and sitting one to each was a pair of Silver Hand. Farkas gestured at Aela and got a nod in return; he shuffled around Vilkas and dropped off the left side of the landing with a purposeful, heavy, rattling thud -- he landed out of the view of the two at the tables. The two Silver Hand stood and looked in that direction, their gazes completely skipping over where Vilkas and Aela crouched at the top of the stairs; Aela put an arrow into each of them and they dropped to the ground dead.

"Can't keep doing that for much longer," she whispered, reaching a hand to her quiver and counting by touch the remaining arrows there.

"Understood." Vilkas carefully but quickly descended the stairs; to his left Farkas was keeping an eye on the hallway and he left him there, moving over to the door that was down a short hallway facing the stairs. When he tried to push or pull it it wouldn't budge -- there didn't seem to be a lock that he could see so it was likely barred from the other side.

"Damn it," he muttered, retreating back to where Aela and Farkas waited. "This is the only way forward."

"Let's not keep them waiting," Farkas grunted as he took the lead.

Vilkas swapped his shield and short sword for his great sword and walked shoulder to shoulder with his brother with Aela guarding their backs; the hallway took them through rooms filled with rotting and burnt furniture and in several places the ceiling had partially caved in.

They didn't encounter many as they made their way forward which left Vilkas suspicious about what they would find ahead of them; the orc that had given the orders before had said to put the entire fort on alert and yet the ones they'd encountered hadn't seemed very...

Something felt off but there wasn't time to consider it. They would have to take whatever came at them and hope they made it out alive.

There were piked werewolf heads in nearly every room; the entire lower level of the fort stank of rotting flesh and made it impossible to smell anything else. They kept moving steadily forward, only meeting the Silver Hand in groups of three or four - well within their ability to handle - and finally, after clearing out a large room that looked to be some kind of dining hall and larder, they found at the back a doorway that was blocked off with thick iron rods; beside the doorway was a lever that they assumed would unlock and let the rods drop down into the floor, but it was chained to the wall with a heavy lock.

"Start looking around, we need to get through this door," Aela said as she moved to the nearest corpse. "I'm betting they stuck their worst, most expendable members up here to slow us down while they fortify whatever's below us. And I doubt they'd lock themselves down there with no way back up here."

They quickly searched through the belongings on each dead Silver Hand - none of those in this room had any sort of key on them so they backtracked through the halls checking rooms and corpses and didn't find one until they'd gone nearly all the way back to where they'd come in.

Once they'd unlocked the lever and thrown it, and the iron rods had slid down into the floor and out of the way, they cautiously inched their way down another set of stairs only to find a door at its bottom...and audible voices on the other side.

Vilkas gestured to his brother, indicating they should burst through together, side by side; Farkas nodded, weapon at the ready. With a deep breath, knowing they were finally to the thick of it, Vilkas charged the door -- he and Farkas knocked it completely off its hinges as they surged forward and into the startled group of Silver Hand beyond it.

\------------------------------------

The area beyond the door was mostly storage based on all the barrels, crates, and bookshelves they found crammed into the rooms and hallways; the Silver Hand had chosen their hold out position well -- the halls were too narrow for Farkas and Vilkas to stand side by side, the crates and barrels provided ample cover for the enemy to shoot behind, and Aela couldn't get a proper shot off without a high risk of putting her arrow into the back of one of the twins' heads.

Seeing no alternative Vilkas had pushed to the front to lead with his shield; this left Farkas mostly useless, sandwiched between him and Aela but there wasn't much that could be done in such tight quarters. The constant fighting was starting to wear on them too -- the Silver Hand seemed endless down here...this had to be a major stronghold of theirs, there was no other explanation for the sheer numbers they had present. At the very least the cramped surroundings kept them from taking full advantage of the fact they outnumbered the Circle (there was no possible way to get around to flank or surround them) so while they had slowed to a near crawl in the fighting they were still able to slowly push forward.

After one particularly nasty skirmish (with the survivors retreating back further into the fort's dim tunnels) Farkas suddenly slapped a hand to Vilkas's belt and yanked him backward.

"What?" he snapped, looking around expecting some enemy he hadn't noticed lurking in a corner or something. Farkas instead pointed down to their feet; not three feet in front of them was an iron plate painted to resemble the stone floor -- Farkas had stopped him from tripping some kind of trap. He nodded in gratitude and his brother returned the nod.

The pressure plate trap was at the point of a corner, in front of a cage that had been fitted into a space that Vilkas assumed had once held more of the same barrels they had been pushing by all this time; inside of the cage was the rotting remains of a transformed werewolf and now, the further they went, the more cages they began to find. Some were full of werewolf corpses, some with just "pieces" of them, and some filled with bloodstained straw that hinted at what had once been held within it.

'And they call us the monsters,' he found himself thinking grimly as he stared in at a rotten carcass.

They rounded the corner and kept going, avoiding a wall covered in spikes that looked like it was rigged to swing outward (likely what the pressure plate was for) and, frustratingly, came to another corner that led to yet another set of stairs going down. A bitterly cold draft was coming up those stairs and it froze the sweat on his face; at the bottom of the stairs was, at last, a much larger, wider room that looked to be some kind of fancy wine cellar back when it was intact. There were barrels here along with gigantic wooden and iron vats with taps and the wall to the left had caved inward but been cleared away to reveal a rough hewed, icy tunnel leading elsewhere.

'It's freezing in here...gods, don't let her be dead of cold.'

The ice tunnel led into a natural cavern - the ceiling was high above their heads and icicles hung thickly, and the room was roughly circular. A ramp had been built of dirt, rock, and ice up to a natural shelf where yet more cages had been installed; one cage held the remains of a werewolf along with bits of...he guessed it was elk, or a large deer, and there were human remains in there too. The other cage had the carcass of a horse inside it and of course there were more heads on pikes in here. Strangely there were no Silver Hand in this room... They paused for a moment to catch their breath, looking wordlessly to one another -- Vilkas couldn't help but notice the grim look that passed between his brother and Aela...as though they had already resigned themselves to rescuing a corpse rather than a woman.

They continued through the icy tunnel and, surprisingly, found themselves stepping through another caved in wall and back into the fort proper; they had smelled nothing but death and rot all this time so the sudden smell of alarmingly fresh blood immediately set Vilkas on edge, and beyond the short hallway they'd emerged into they found what could only be described as a torture chamber.

Shackles were hammered into the walls and several still held long dead werewolves; there was a table upon which a werewolf was laid out -- its pelt and skin were peeled back to reveal the bare muscles, pinned in place to the table beneath it with daggers and a few tools whose purpose could only be for inflicting torment. The chest had been cracked open, the ribs discarded on the floor, and all the entrails pulled free and laid out in a macabre display, and there in the back corners of the room were a pair of racks that were soaked in blood and had considerable bloodstains on the stone beneath them.

It was enough to make Vilkas shudder, sick to his stomach and sick at heart.

There was a door to their left and they could hear voices echoing up ahead...a lot of them. Vilkas gestured for silence and moved as silently as he could down yet another cramped hallway, stopping to listen at each corner; the voices grew louder and the closer they got the clearer they became without the echo interfering too much - he could hear a man's voice giving orders, directing people by name on where to stand and what to do once the Circle poked their heads out into the room. It was impossible to determine by voices along how many were in the room ahead but he knew it was an alarming number...he didn't want to believe it was more than they could handle but he had a sinking feeling that this fight would be the worst they'd encountered so far: here was the final stand of the Silver Hand, and somewhere beyond here they had a hostage to use as leverage as well.

At the final corner before the hallway spilled into the room where the Silver Hand had gathered there was a wooden beam - a ceiling support - that had a large gap between it and the wall behind it where the stone had crumbled away. Vilkas was able to press his eye to the gap and see around the corner without revealing himself and growled in frustration when he saw there was yet another landing ahead of them that led down into a room he couldn't see from here - all that was within his view was the vaulted ceiling, some rusted chandeliers, and what he assumed was a wide chimney based on the shape of the stonework set against the wall and how the shadows on the walls flickered with firelight.

"How many are there?" Aela asked when he pulled back from the corner.

"I can't tell," he answered quietly. "They are on a level below us."

Aela huffed out a noise of irritation. "Of course." She looked between the twins. "Plans?"

"We aren't going to know what's in there until we step into the room," Vilkas warned.

Farkas glanced between them and then moved to the corner himself. "You can smell the fear on the air...they're not expecting to win. I don't think there's as many as we're picturing."

"What are you suggesting then?"

As Farkas was turning around Vilkas missed whatever he was about to say as he was suddenly bounced off the wall by a dark blur; his head struck the stone and he saw stars, and nearby he heard Farkas grunt in pain.

"Aela-"

There was a roar from the room ahead, and then screams; letting out a noise that was halfway between a growl and a hiss Vilkas straightened -- Farkas too had been bowled over and was getting to his feet.

"Hurry - follow her!" Vilkas snapped. A deep anger at Aela's reckless charge hit him as he rounded the corner on his brother's heels but once he laid eyes on the total chaos she'd spread he had to admit to himself that maybe this time recklessness might have been what was needed.

Aela was a whirlwind of teeth and claws and none of the Silver Hand nearest her could get close enough to strike without being brutally bloodied; as he had earlier Farkas simply dropped off the side of the landing, immediately springing forward as his feet hit the ground to impale the nearest man on his sword and swing him mercilessly aside. Vilkas surveyed the room quickly, noting a handful of Silver Hand that were backing up with bows in hand -- he sprinted halfway down the stairs then leapt at the nearest one, swinging his shield ahead of him and hearing a dull crack as the woman's head snapped backward and she dropped to the floor. The three that had been standing with her scrambled to draw their swords and daggers; Vilkas rushed into their midst and dropped a second woman before she had the chance to get her bow out of her hands.

The remaining man and woman in front of him managed to get their weapons in hand - her with a short sword, him with a great sword - and they started to separate to try and flank him; Vilkas shuffled to stay in close quarters with the man, keeping too close for him to get a proper strike in with his large weapon and leaving the woman constantly facing his shield. For a time they circled in the tight grouping with Vilkas either blocking or parrying their attacks -- he waited for an opening but then, as they had shifted around to place his back to the wall, he got a full view of the room.

What they had feared was a full room of Silver Hand actually numbered maybe twelve, if that; Aela was tearing anything that got near her to shreds and Farkas was easily keeping three men at bay with artful blade work, carefully maneuvering them to push them back into Aela's reach.

His momentary scan of the room left the tiniest opening that the man with the great sword darted forward to exploit; Vilkas felt a searing pain across his left cheek -- he'd seen the flash of the blade angling in and had jerked back but not quite enough to avoid the tip of the blade slicing into his face from cheekbone to chin, continuing on to scrape down the front of his breast plate.

The attack sparked off an anger -- at himself for the lapse in focus, at these Silver Hand for hunting them for so long, for them daring to steal Tormlia away, for taking Skjor... It fueled his counter attack with an almost unnatural strength; he battered the sword-wielding man, furious, striking again and again -- he was only slightly aware of the slip in the man's parry, of the fingers that landed on the ground at his feet and the man's cry of agony, of how the great sword slipped in the man's maimed grip which allowed him to bring his own weapon in at shoulder height and gouge a deep cut completely across him. Even as the man fell to the ground at his feet Vilkas kept at him, cutting him to pieces as the woman snarled at him and rained blows against his shield.

When the man was a raw, bloody mess on the ground he turned his attention to the woman and cut her apart in short order as well - neither had been heavily armored and they had paid for it; he jumped over the woman's corpse and charged up behind a man who was menacing Aela. He brought his sword around with as much strength behind it as he could muster and took it nearly completely through the man's neck -- it was not a clean cut and didn't sever his head completely but it hardly mattered now.

At last there was only five men left standing and Farkas repelled their blades as Aela dove into their midst...then, finally, silence.

Well, not entirely silent -- Vilkas's blood was roaring in his ears and at the sight of so much blood and meat he felt the beast rearing up inside him. He dropped to one knee, shaking as the rage and adrenaline released him from its grip and left him to grapple with the nigh overwhelming desire to feast on the corpses splayed out in front of him. Slowly he pushed himself to his feet, re-sheathed his weapon and put his shield to his back, then staggered from the room to lean against the wall in a hallway he'd noticed to the left of a large fireplace.

The air here was stale and a draft blew into his face, carrying away the scent of gore; it helped calm the beast blood and slowly he clawed control back, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. When he felt fully...well, stable again, he turned back to look into the room but did not step back inside it.

Aela had let her form fall away and was covered in cuts and blood but despite the injuries she wore a wolfish grin of satisfaction as she surveyed the carnage; his brother was wrapping a bandage over a puncture in his arm just above the elbow but otherwise seemed unhurt, just tired. Nowhere did Vilkas see any sign of cages or shackles and with a determination turned back to the hallway and strode down it -- he was well beyond any fears of ambush or attack, not after so many dead...any Silver Hand that remained within this fort were either stupid or suicidally overconfident.

The hallway led to a long stairway up to a warped wooden door and spilled him into another straw and firewood filled room that had yet another stairway up into a room that, to either side, had a raised stone platform. On the one to his left was a table and benches, a fireplace, and what looked like a meal abandoned halfway through preparing it...and to the right...

There, at the back wall -- an iron cage hung from the ceiling on a thick, heavy chain, and within that cage was a pale figure curled up into a ball.

He tripped in his haste to get up the stairs and onto the platform, rushing by a shelf full of weapons and a grindstone. "Tormlia!"

The woman was stripped to her undergarments and as white as chalk; she didn't stir when he reached the cage and reached in to touch her arm and he gritted his teeth when he saw her wrists and ankles were tied together -- not that she had room to stretch out in the cage as it was barely big enough to hold a skeever. 

"Tormlia..." He yanked his gauntlet off and went to gently shake her shoulder; she was cold to the touch but he could tell she was still breathing...he needed to find some way to get her down. The cage had a lock on it but thankfully he found the key sitting on the shelf among the swords, and once the door had swung open he gently lifted her free and cradled her in his arms, grinding his teeth together as he hurried over to the fireplace and carefully cut the ropes that held her.

Her face was a mass of purple bruises, her lip and left eyebrow split; as he carefully stretched her out he found a partially scabbed over, jagged gouge down her side that was ringed with red and stank of infection. She didn't stir, not even when he accidentally nudged a purple, swollen knee and in a mild panic he'd double checked for her pulse and found it slow and faint but present.

"Cowards tortured her."

Vilkas flinched and looked over his shoulder - Aela and Farkas had finally caught up with him and were staring over his head down at the injured woman. "We need to get her out of here and back to Whiterun. Find something we can wrap her in so she does not freeze."

He heard their footsteps retreating; his attention was fully on Tormlia -- thankfully her injuries seemed limited to what he'd seen immediately: the bruising and busted lip, the cut, what he hoped was just a sprain and not a shattered knee. Her hands and feet were slightly purple from loss of circulation and he rubbed his hands over hers to coax some warmth back into them.

She was feeling warmer to the touch by the time Aela and Farkas returned; Aela passed him first a rough linen cover, then a larger horse hide blanket - together the two would be enough to cover her head to toe and keep her warm as they traveled down the mountains in the snow and wind.

Aela knelt beside him to help spread the blankets out and lift Tormlia into them (the woman still did not stir) then jerked her head back toward Farkas. "And look what else we found."

Vilkas spared his brother a glance and saw him standing with a sack in hand; he reached inside it and pulled out a shard of-

"Wuuthrad," he murmured, feeling a tiny sense of relief at having recovered the shards of the weapon alongside finding Tormlia alive.

He bundled the blankets around Tormlia and stood - she weighed so little... - then gave the room a much closer look. "-must we walk all the way back the way we came, or does that door I see there lead somewhere?"

Farkas moved over to it and, after a few minutes of struggling to pull it free, ripped the warped wooden bar from its hooks and pushed the door open; the hinges squealed as though the door hadn't been opened in the last century and once they'd walked through it they couldn't get the door to close properly behind them either.

But it didn't matter. To hell with this place and to the Silver Hand. He shifted Tormlia in his arms, pulling her closer and angling her up to tuck her forehead in against his neck so he could more clearly see where he was walking. 

Or so he told himself.


	7. Chapter 7

After three days in the temple of Kynareth under the watchful eye and care of Danica Tormlia's wounds mended and her fever broke; she had awakened a few times but remained weak and exhausted and was asleep each time Vilkas came to check on her.

Finally, on the fourth day, he managed to catch her awake if a bit drowsy; several emotions flickered across her face when she saw him: confusion first, then relief, then a look that could only be described as fearful. He kept his expression even and cordial with Danica, confirming that Tormlia was free to leave but would still need bed rest to fully recover; Tormlia was tense and leaning back from him when he carried her from the temple but allowed him to carry her inside and down into his room, yet when he sat her gently on the bed she scooted herself back from him.

"Tormlia..."

"Stay back," she whispered.

He winced at the tremor in her voice. "I won't hurt you. I would never hurt you." She slid herself into the corner of his bed against the wall, clutching the blanket around her. "...what did they tell you?" he asked quietly.

"Everything."

"No," he replied quickly. "Not everything. Because they cannot know everything. What did they tell you?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Yes it does. They will have lied to you, said whatever they could to force information from you, or make you suffer."

She looked to him, eyes narrowing. "Nothing they told me was a lie."

He sighed - despite her brave tone he could see she was shaking, and that stung him. "What did they tell you?" he repeated gently.

"That you're all werewolves. But I knew that."

Vilkas's eyes widened at that. How did she know and when did she... Surely Kodlak had not told her...a blood relation could not possibly be enough to warrant that level of trust so soon after meeting her. "I- what? How did you...?"

Her jaw clenched and she looked away; he wrestled with a surge of fear, disbelief, shock - his stomach lurched that she'd so casually announced their secret and had somehow... All this time he'd agonized over telling her and she'd already known, but how? How in the world had she found out?

"Tormlia, please...look at me. How did you know?"

She hunched into the blanket, pulling it tighter around her; for a moment he had the urge to pull it away from her, to force her to meet his gaze, but he saw her swallow hard before slowly turning to face him. "...I know I shouldn't have...I shouldn't have, but --" she went quiet suddenly, chewing on her lower lip and running a tongue over the new scar there.

"But?" he repeated. As the silence stretched between them he realized he was slowly leaning toward her -- she was clearly afraid of him, getting closer to her would not help calm that fear. He straightened back up and slid further from her but did not look away.

"When I...when I went to retrieve my family's book, I- it was sitting open, in his room. And there was a small book open on top of it...it...it looked like a journal. And, when I took my book, I took that one too."

A journal...Kodlak had kept a journal? And Tormlia had taken... If it were anyone else he would have been immediately incensed that she'd stolen it, but...but if there was anyone who had a reasonable claim to Kodlak's belongings it would be her - he was her last living blood relative, and she his. "A journal... And within it, it told of our curse," he said finally.

She gave the barest nod, lowering her head and almost disappearing into the blanket with a guilty look. "I know, I know I shouldn't have taken it. It was not mine, and the secrets in it were not mine to steal. But he was...he was my last family. And it's not fair he was taken from me before I got to truly know him. I wanted...I wanted to learn more of him. Read his words, know him even after his death. And, and inside it -- y-yes, it spoke of your...your beast blood," she whispered. 

Vilkas tilted his face to the ceiling, taking a shaky breath; here was her admitting that she already knew half of what he'd rushed off for in a desperate attempt to catch her before she'd left him, something he'd agonized over and was genuinely scared to divulge -- the thought brought both relief and that same fear of her judgement...and there was a pain there too, seeing how she scared she was of him now.

"Tormlia, I..." he started, voice cracking midway through. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I wanted to tell you. This is not how I wanted you to find out - I wanted you to hear this from me, no one else. But I was afraid."

She looked up from within the blanket, confusion on her face. 

"I was afraid you would hate me," he went on. "I feared your judgement...you-" With a sharp inhale and a spike of anxiety he squeezed his eyes shut. "You mean a lot to me, and I hated lying to you...but it couldn't overcome the fear."

An uneasy silence fell between them; Vilkas couldn't bring himself to look at her, choosing instead to stare at the ceiling or down at his lap. The bed dipped suddenly and he glanced up to see she'd moved away from the corner -- she clutched the blanket around her still but with one hand now, leaning toward him on the other hand.

"Why?" she asked quietly. "Why would you willingly...?"

He huffed out a bitter sigh. "It's... Hundreds of years ago a Harbinger was - he was offered power, in return for hunting in Hircine's name. It was presented to us as a blessing, it was presented to ME as a blessing when it was my time, and at first -- at first I believed it. When I took the blood I became stronger, faster...my senses sharper, even as a man. For a time I truly believed it was a blessing."

"It's not," Tormlia said flatly.

Vilkas nodded to her, then shook his head. "We were tricked. This blood is... I do not sleep - it makes you restless, it gives me nightmares. I smell blood or fresh game and I hunger. The urge to transform is so difficult to deny. And Kodlak believed that a beast would not be called to glory in Sovngarde...more than anything he wished to be clean. I too wish to be rid of this curse. If I could somehow go back to that time before I accepted this "gift" I would have never touched it."

For a long moment she simply stared at him; he met her gaze with a nervous feeling churning in his stomach and his hands clenched in his lap to disguise how they were shaking.

'Please...please understand. Please...'

"You're telling the truth? You...you want to be cured?"

"Yes," he replied in a rush. "Myself, and my brother too. Kodlak..."

"He wanted to be cured, I know," she said softly. "And he thought he knew how."

A feeling of surprise shot through him like a lightning strike -- Kodlak knew of a cure? "What? How? How do you know?"

"In his journal," she answered - again that guilty look crossed her face. "In the last entry..."

Vilkas stood up quickly; Tormlia started and flinched from him and he mentally cursed himself (even though it hadn't been his intention to frighten her) as he quickly hurried from his room, ducking first into Farkas's and then sticking his head into Aela's -- there on Aela's dresser he found Tormlia's bag. He snagged it and quickly hurried back to Tormlia, moving slowly once he was back in her sight and gently laying her bag on the bed beside her. She almost seemed surprised to see it and timidly pulled it toward her and opened it; from within she pulled a small book free and offered it to him.

He took it from her carefully and opened it from the back, flipping through the pages until he reached ones with writing on them. The most recent entry ended in a half-written word that turned into a long, scratched line across the rest of the words above it - Kodlak must have been writing it the same night the Silver Hand attacked. Vilkas quickly read through it then looked up to Tormlia in confusion. "Glenmoril... I do not know this word or place."

"I do. They're a coven near Falkreath."

"...how do you know?"

Her expression went as flat as her tone. "They're a coven of witches, my father hated me, and he was heavily in debt. I'm sure you can guess what he threatened me with a few times."

He accidentally bit the inside of his cheek when his teeth clenched -- it was a very good thing (for her father, that is) that he was dead or else Vilkas doubted he could ever stand to meet the man without breaking his jaw. With a steadying breath that didn't quite rid him of that spark of anger he looked again down to the book and read a few entries further; there wasn't any way to be certain as to how Kodlak had traced the werewolf curse back to this particular coven but the elder was convinced that killing them would somehow lead to breaking Hircine's and the blood's hold on them...Vilkas did not know how, exactly, this was supposed to work or what they should do, but at the very least he knew they needed to try.

After gently closing the journal and rubbing a thumb across it he offered it back to her. "Is - is this why you did not go home? To Riften?"

She took the journal and it disappeared under the blanket with her but with how she held herself he knew she was clutching it to her chest. "Yes. I read as much of it as I could before I fell asleep, and then the next morning in the carriage I got through the rest... I didn't realize I was so close to finishing it the night before -- when I got to the part about Glenmoril, I- I knew where I had to go."

"But why? Why do this on your own?"

Silently she leaned toward him; he froze in place, uncertain what she was going to do, and nearly dropped the journal from slack fingers when she pushed it back into his hands. As he held it she turned the pages to somewhere in the middle, then tapped the tip of a finger onto a particular entry:

_"In my dream, I see the Harbingers start with Ysgramor. Each of them ascends to Sovngarde, until we come to Terrfyg, who first turned us to the ways of the beast. He tries to enter Sovngarde, but before he can even approach Tsun he is set upon by a great wolf, who pulls him into the Hunting Grounds where Hircine laughs with welcoming arms._

_Terrfyg seems regretful but also eager to join Hircine after a lifetime of service as a beast._

_Then I see every next Harbinger turn away from Sovngarde and enter the Hunting Grounds of their own accord. Until it comes to me, and I see great Tsun on the misty horizon, beckoning me. It appears I have a choice. And then, at my side, a stranger I had not seen before. As I look into her eyes we turn to see the same wolf that who had dragged away Terrfyg, and she and I stand together to meet it."_

Vilkas read through it twice -- Kodlak had dreamed of Tormlia coming? That is certainly what he seemed convinced of. He read on further and found many more mentionings of what could only be Tormlia in the entries leading up to where he wrote of her arrival. It seemed impossible to believe and yet, here it had happened, and he had the strange feeling of walking a very thin edge, ready to topple to either side.

Would he believe this wholeheartedly, or was it merely imagination born of desperation?

Vilkas let out a breath he wasn't aware he'd been holding and closed the journal with his finger inside it to mark where he'd stopped reading. "Why did you not tell us? Why did you not come back for our help?"

She fixed him with a look that held a bit of fire. "If you hadn't seen Kodlak's words - or maybe even if you had - would you have honestly taken me with you? Or would you have left me behind to handle it yourselves?"

Vilkas paused - he knew that SHE knew exactly what he was about to say. "...we could have helped you," he finally answered.

Tormlia snorted and shook her head. "If by helping you mean, left me behind," she repeated. "He was all I had left...the only family I had, and if I'm being honest he's the only one that's openly cared for my thoughts and feelings. I am not about to sit quietly and let someone else save him for me. I want to help."

He nodded at that and glanced toward the ceiling above her head as he thought; if she wanted to accompany them, then...he supposed he couldn't do much to stop her from following unless he locked her in a room and even if he wasn't...even if he wasn't in love with her he knew he couldn't have done that to her anyway. There was a nagging doubt in him however regarding her ability to fight -- he'd only ever seen a dagger in her hands when they'd gone outside of Whiterun, and only to cut and trim up the plants she took for her potions. She didn't have much muscle and what was there was certainly not that of a warrior or duelist...his heart wanted her with him but his logic wanted to deny her.

'But she would be with us. We could protect her, and she as a mender could keep us on our feet.'

With a sigh Vilkas stood and headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" he heard her call after him.

He paused and looked back to her. "To find you clothing and a meal." A sudden thought stopped him. "-was there anything else in that journal about the cure?"

"Not that I...remember. I could re-read it to be sure."

"Do that," he replied with a nod. "If we're to have any chance of helping his spirit we must know what he knew. I will return soon."

\-------------------------------------

Aela had offered up a pair of thick cloth pants and a sleeveless leather jerkin - both in the same muted brownish-gray - and Tilma had found her a pair of boots; Tormlia seemed a lot livelier after she got a meal into her but refused to really talk about her captivity with the Silver Hand...in a way he supposed it was better this way: they were dead and she clearly didn't want to relive those moments (not that he blamed her).

They waited together in the dim light of the Underforge for Farkas and Aela; Vilkas was careful to stay far from her, mostly so he would not see her as well as the basin in the same glance...there was no desire to remind him of that nightmare more than was necessary.

The door at last slid open and the other two entered; Aela raised a silent eyebrow at the large gap of space between where he waited at the far side of the room compared to where Tormlia stood to the left of the door.

"What's going on, Vilkas? You said you knew how to cure Kodlak?"

"Aye," he answered. With a grunt he pushed himself up from where he'd been leaning against one of the carved stone tables. "And we have Tormlia to thank for that." She whipped her head around to stare at him, wide-eyed, but he gave her no chance to respond. "We must travel to the Glenmoril coven, to the west, and take the heads of the witches there. They are key to curing Kodlak of the blood."

Aela clearly didn't believe a word of it; her skeptical look moved from Vilkas to Tormlia, then back again. "And how do we know this is true?"

"Kodlak traced the curse back through the generations," Tormlia answered before Vilkas could. Aela turned to look at her, crossing her arms with a 'go on' gesture. Tormlia looked pale and nervous under their scrutiny but straightened a bit where she stood. "I didn't find it out on my own, it was him."

"He told you?" Aela asked, sounding surprised.

"He- yes, indirectly," Tormlia replied. When her gaze briefly flicked to him Vilkas gave her an encouraging nod - he didn't want Aela or Farkas focusing on her theft of Kodlak's journal when curing him was so much more important. "It was in his own words."

There was a brief silence before Aela nodded (Farkas remained quiet and still, standing not far from where Tormlia was near the door) and looked between the twins. "Do we know exactly where we're going?"

Vilkas shook his head. "Not exactly. It is to the west, near Falkreath. Surely someone there will know what we're seeking."

"And likely will be glad to be rid of them," Aela added dryly. "All right. We can leave at first light."

Vilkas nodded; Aela headed through the door and disappeared into the night but for some reason Farkas leaned close to Tormlia and muttered something -- her face showed confusion, then surprise, but when he was done with whatever he was saying she gave him a timid nod and followed him outside. When Vilkas stepped from the Underforge he noticed them standing several feet off to the side; Farkas had lowered his head to Tormlia again and while Vilkas could hear the rumble of his voice he couldn't make out the words.

He left them to it and went back inside Jorrvaskr and down to his room to prepare for the morning -- there really wasn't much he needed to do aside from make certain his blades still had a sharp edge and that his armor was still in good shape; when they traveled they always prioritized moving quickly over everything else and for the most part they foraged or hunted for their meals rather than carry too much with them so there was little he needed to actually pack. 

"Hey, Vilkas."

At his brother's call Vilkas slid his short sword back into its sheath and left it sitting on the dresser as he stepped over to the door and stuck his head out. "I'm here."

Farkas was there in the hallway and he could just see Tormlia's bare arm behind him - she was small enough that his brother's frame almost completely hid her from view; he came forward to grab him by the elbow and Vilkas was first confused, then annoyed by it.

"What are you-"

Tormlia stepped out from behind him looking apologetic and much like what had happened the night of the Silver Hand's attack Vilkas felt an oncoming rush of drowsiness; he was only faintly aware of Farkas shifting his grip to keep him from toppling to the floor as sleep swallowed him.

\-------------------------------------------------------

For the first time in a very long time Vilkas felt as though he'd actually _slept._ It was deep and dreamless, spotted with a few scattered memories of Tormlia's glowing hands, and when he finally swam up out of that deep dark he could have sworn he was shaking from the energy and vitality coursing through him, awakening flat on his back in his own bed, stripped of his armor again -- his back and neck were stiff like he'd not moved at all but the stiffness eased as he sat up and stretched.

He was aware of Tormlia's familiar scent and the sounds of soft breathing in the room with him; the door to his room was cracked open but it didn't let in enough light for him to clearly see what was in here -- once he'd lit a candle he was surprised to see Tormlia. She'd dragged the two chairs from his table and sat them facing one another and was somewhat curled up across the two of them with her head pillowed on an armrest; a linen blanket was tucked in around her as well as knotted in one fist and pulled in under her chin. It didn't look comfortable in the slightest and yet she was asleep...he found himself wondering what time it was and carefully crept out of the room without disturbing her.

Farkas and Aela were both gone - not in their rooms, not in the mead hall, and Brill remembered seeing them slip out at the first sign of sunrise.

Yesterday.

Both his fists and his jaw clenched; he'd been asleep nearly two days? Why? That had to be what Farkas had... Why would Tormlia agree to be left behind like this?

His stomach growled loudly -- stopping to eat was the last thing he wanted to do at the moment but since he was already up here he supposed he might as well get it over with, wolfing down a quick breakfast before jogging back down the stairs and to his room. Tormlia was coming out as he rounded the corner and when they caught sight of one another they stood there awkwardly for a moment or two without speaking.

"I can understand if you're angry with me," she started, "but it was your brother's idea."

"They left days ago," he said, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice. "You tell me you do not want to be left behind, yet he convinces you in a handful of words?"

"It's - it's not that. He said you weren't sleeping well - you've said the same thing, even - and he wanted you to actually have a good night of rest under your belt before you left."

"Then why didn't they wake me?"

"I don't know. You also slept much longer than I thought you would...my spell shouldn't have kept you out that long." She looked him up and down, concern apparent on her face. "If you've been suffering from a lack of sleep all this time maybe it shouldn't have been that surprising."

He blew out an irritated sigh and closed his eyes, willing the annoyance away; in a way he was thankful as well as flattered at his brother's worry, yet the fact that he and Aela had left him and Tormlia behind... It rankled him - he should be at their side helping right now.

Tormlia took a few steps back, then turned and retreated back into his room; Vilkas followed after a pause and once she'd dropped into one of the chairs he tugged the other one a ways from her and settled into it himself, facing her. "--what now, then?"

She shrugged. "Waiting, I guess. Farkas promised he'd come back, even if he came back by himself. He asked me to take care of you in the meantime, so...I've just been waiting for you to wake up." Again she studied him, gaze moving slowly up and down his form. "How are you feeling?"

"Like..." he began, then paused. He felt invigorated, almost younger, with a sort of vibrating feeling under his skin - he was full of energy and knew if he didn't find a way to burn it off he'd become very restless, very quickly. "I have not felt like this since before the blood," he finished. Slowly he turned a hand over and clenched a fist, then flexed his fingers. "Like I have actually rested. No nightmares, no half-remembered dreams. Just a quiet sleep."

She nodded in understanding and for awhile they didn't speak; Tormlia was comfortable in her chair and, to him at least, looked sleepy while Vilkas felt a need to get up and do...something. Anything. It was hard to keep from fidgeting and at last he couldn't stand it anymore -- he stood up and pushed his chair back into place at the table, then looked down at Tormlia.

"You still look tired. Find a bed - take mine, if you wish to stay out of sight."

"And where are you going?"

"I... I do not know. Training yard, probably. I have this feeling I need to do something...it is uncomfortable to sit around."

She offered him a small smile. "One night of sleep and you don't know what to do with yourself."

That brought a smile to him as well. "So it seems."

As he'd suggested he spent the day in the training yard - he felt like he was moving quicker and apparently it was more than a feeling as Njada commented on it, complimenting him on his repeated victories in their little skirmishes. Tormlia was up in the mead hall when he'd come back inside, sitting near Vignar and listening to some long winded story he was recounting; down in his room he found Tormlia's blanket folded up and thrown across the back of her chair -- his entire room smelled of her now and he found he liked that. 

Aela and Farkas (and Athis too, apparently) took nearly two weeks to travel, wipe out the coven, and return to Jorrvaskr; they had brought back a sack full of severed heads, claws, and feathers from the hagravens that they hid inside the Underforge before all collapsing into their respective beds.

It hardly seemed real to him but now they had the components they needed...in the morning they would decide their next step and plan. Kodlak would soon be freed of his curse.

And, if he was lucky, so would Vilkas.


	8. Chapter 8

"The old man had one wish before he died and he didn't get it. It's as simple as that."

"Being moon-born is not so much of a curse as you might think, Vilkas."

For a moment he stood and took a deep breath - they had argued this among themselves even when Kodlak had been alive; once, in the past, they had all taken to the blood willingly and saw no trouble in it -- Aela still did, even as Kodlak, Vilkas, and Farkas had turned from it. Aela was welcome to keep embracing it (it was her choice and her right to make that choice) but now...now, this was not up for debate. This was not for her. At its core, this wasn't even for him or Farkas either.

"That's fine for you," he said finally. "But he wanted to be clean. He wanted to meet Ysgramor and know the glories of Sovngarde. But all that was taken from him."

"And he's been avenged," Aela replied.

Farkas snorted - Vilkas glanced behind him to his twin and noticed Tormlia behind him as well...little wonder Aela was feeling combative with the three of them accidentally standing together and, in her eyes, against her.

"Kodlak did not care for vengeance," Farkas said quietly.

Vilkas nodded to him. "No, Farkas, he didn't. And that's not with this is about. We should be honoring Kodlak, no matter our own thoughts on the blood." He subtly stressed 'own' and looked to Aela with what he hoped was a plain enough look to defuse her stubbornness.

Aela studied them all silently with an unreadable expression to then his relief she sighed and nodded. "You're right. It's what he wanted and he deserved to have it." Her gaze moved between them and the basin in front of them, and a small smile crossed her features - he couldn't be certain about the smile but he wondered if she too was remembering her earliest days with the blood and how she'd grown with it since then. Vilkas did not fault her her choice nor would he demand she cure herself either, and he made a mental note to apologize to her later for unintentionally coming off as trying to force it on her as well -- they had all grown together and closer with the blood in their veins and he needed to remember that it meant something different to them all that couldn't be erased. He wasn't even entirely certain what it would mean to him to be cured of the curse, left as a man again...

"So, what is our plan then? We destroyed the coven - what do we do now? How do we help him?" Aela went on.

Vilkas turned around to look to Tormlia. "What say you?"

Tormlia looked surprised to be included and glanced between the three nervously. "He - ah. The only other thing mentioned, besides the coven, was the Tomb of Ysgramor. But -- I'm sorry, he didn't have much else to say of it. It was only mentioned once or twice."

Vilkas nodded slowly at that, rubbing at his cheek. "You know the legends of the Tomb of Ysgramor," he said - it was clear his words were more for Aela and Farkas and now that attention was off her again Tormlia went back to standing awkwardly at the rear of their group.

"There the souls of the Harbingers will heed the call of northern steel," Aela recited, but then she frowned. "But we can't even enter the tomb without Wuuthrad and it's in pieces like it has been for a thousand years-"

All four of them started and spun around as the door to the Underforge suddenly swung open; Eorlund was framed within the doorway and Vilkas had a sudden lump of ice form in his stomach -- how far did their voices carry in here? What had Eorlund just heard, as they'd talked so carelessly?

The elder came in -- there was something clutched in his hands, long and thin, but with the sunlight at his back it was impossible for Vilkas to see it through the sudden afterimages in his eyes.

"And dragons were just stories. And the elves once ruled Skyrim," Eorlund said, his strong voice booming in the enclosed space. The door finally shut behind him and Vilkas blinked rapidly to clear his vision as the man strode in toward them. "Just because something is, doesn't mean it must be. The blade is a weapon. A tool. Tools are meant to be broken, and repaired."

"Is that..." The images cleared enough for him to finally get a look at what Eorlund held in his hands. "Did you repair the blade?"

Eorlund nodded, holding the axe in front of him for them all to see. "This is the first time I've had all the pieces, thanks to our Shield-brother-" he nodded to Farkas "-and our little sister, here." This time he nodded to Tormlia who flushed a pale pink and smiled shyly; Vilkas had no idea what Eorlund meant by that - something must have happened while he was out cold.

"The flames of a hero can reforge the shattered," Eorlund went on, voice quiet and reverent. "The flames of Kodlak have fueled the rebirth of Wuuthrad, and now it will take you to meet him once more. As the one who carries his bloodline, and held his affections, I think you should be the one to carry Wuuthrad to the tomb."

Tormlia stared at Eorlund in shock, shrinking from him as he walked up to her and held the axe to her. "W-what? Me? I-- I don't know how to...how to use that. I don't deserve to carry it."

Eorlund remained where he stood, unmoving; Tormlia finally reached out timidly and he placed the axe gently into her hands, nodding to her then turning to face the three members of the Circle.

"The rest of you, prepare to journey to the Tomb of Ysgramor. For Kodlak."

"Eorlund...how long have you known?" Aela asked, sounding amazed.

A ghost of a smile crossed the elder's face. "I know and hear far more than you know, girl. You remain honorable, and it was never my place to tell."

With that Eorlund left the four of them standing in silence; it was...difficult, to say the least, for Vilkas to wrap his head around the fact that Eorlund had known of the curse too and had kept silent all these years; after the surprise wore off he felt a rush of gratitude toward the man for keeping the secret and saving them all a lot of needless conflict, if not death.

With a thoughtful noise Aela broke the silence. "-well. I guess we should prepare to leave. Tormlia, come find me inside - we should get you something heavier than what you're wearing, and you'll need a strap and clasp to carry that axe."

Tormlia nodded without looking at her; Aela slipped out the door and when Farkas looked to Vilkas questioningly he nodded to his brother, then Farkas followed along behind Aela.

Vilkas turned back to Tormlia -- he could see her hands shaking as she stood with Wuuthrad in hand. He took a few careful steps toward her and set his fingers under the axe's shaft to steady it in her hands.

"I shouldn't be carrying this," she said quietly, looking up to him. "Someone more deserving should."

A faint smile crossed his lips and a heat warmed his ears and face. "You are always so concerned with whether you deserve this or that. You won't be expected to fight with it, just bear it to the tomb." 

She met his gaze and held it. "It's hard not to be, when you've been told you don't even deserve the life you have." She let out a huffing noise - something like a bitter laugh with hardly any voice to it. "My mother was a mender...I became one too just to spite him. I wish I'd known about Kodlak sooner -- in a month he was more a father to me than mine was the entire time I knew him."

"Don't dwell on him. He's dead, and he did not deserve the daughter he sired," Vilkas said quickly. Gently he slid his hands over hers, moving and adjusting her grip, pressing her fingers securely to the haft and angling the weapon in her hands so she was holding it properly. "I could teach you how to use this, if you wish to learn. Or any other weapon you'd prefer. You should know how to protect yourself," he said quietly.

In that same place that always seemed to hold his anxiety, his nervousness, his fear...there was a warmth blossoming to match the warmth in his face -- it was still born out of nervousness, he thought, but it was...pleasant, sort of tingly...not something unwelcome like so many other emotions lately. He was only marginally aware that he was moving closer but in the same instant highly aware that she wasn't pulling away from him this time; slowly his fingers tightened over hers and he leaned down-

Before he could press his lips to hers she turned her head and pulled back.

He jerked himself away, inhaling sharply. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"

The words abruptly cut off as she slid a hand from beneath his and laid it, feather-light, against his cheek; Vilkas froze, feeling as though his heart had stopped along with his breathing as she searched his face for...something.

"I won't lay with a beast, Vilkas," she said at last, voice barely above a whisper.

He exhaled and sucked in an anxious breath. "But you would, with a man?"

'If I was clean...?'

The barest of nods was his answer; a lightheaded feeling struck him - a feeling he could only describe as a hopeful euphoria.

"Tormlia!" came Aela's shout from outside - it carried the tone of an order and Vilkas could somewhat recall her saying Tormlia needed something heavier...armor, of some kind. "Whatever you're talking about in there can wait."

Tormlia flinched at Aela's call, removing her hand from his cheek and scurrying out the door. Vilkas fell forward against the stone table she'd been standing in front of, catching himself on his hands and leaning there, trying to get himself back in order after...after that. 

It took awhile to get himself calmed down and focused back on the matter at hand; he found Aela, Farkas, and Tormlia waiting on him in Aela's room -- Tormlia had on a spare set of Aela's armor (the belts and straps had to be cut down to fit Tormlia's smaller frame, to Aela's amusement and Tormlia's embarrassment). Farkas helped her slide Wuuthrad into the catch strapped to her back then they moved together up the stairs and out into the afternoon, leaving Whiterun and letting their steps take them toward the north -- Ysgramor's Tomb was northwest of Winterhold which was quite a distance away. But the distance didn't really matter to him - it was just a long walk, after all. What mattered is with each step they drew closer to cleansing Kodlak's spirit...and soon after, he and Farkas would both be free as well. 

Even if he hadn't already made his mind up about it knowing now that that was the price to win Tormlia's heart, he was more than willing to pay it.

\--------------------------------------------

The closer they drew the more apparent a sort of...odd feeling became.

Ysgramor's Tomb... A place he'd heard of and had wanted to see ever since he was a boy. The resting place of the legendary warrior -- a place he should be honored and awed to see.

And yet...there was that odd feeling. As though he didn't belong...that he wasn't worthy. 

Each night they rested he had worried that Tormlia's presence would keep him awake - her presence and the memory of that brief moment in the Underforge, kept close to his heart and so clear in his mind - but instead of the shyness and anticipation of love he found himself thinking of...other things. Darker things. Times when his blood or his temper had bested him, times when he hadn't been honorable. It was as though every wrong thing he'd ever done fought its way to the forefront of his thoughts, and things he had thought forgotten or had forgiven himself for came back crystal clear to him along with the feelings of guilt and shame.

When they had but one day of travel left it occurred to him that this...this terrible feeling of unworthiness, of worthlessness...was this a sign he was not welcome within the tomb? Even if his intentions now were selfless and noble, would he even be permitted entry?

He kept his worries to himself, forcing a smile as needed or simply staying quiet; none of the others noticed, or if they did they said nothing...in a way it was a blessing, as he did not think he could fully explain this sudden onset of shame.

The inside of the tomb was a welcome shelter from the wind outside once they'd finally reached it; Vilkas usually didn't find the weather to be too much of a nuisance but a literal blizzard had come roaring across the sea as the tomb had come into view -- the last few hours of their trek had been a miserable one but now...

Now, they were here.

The tomb's entrance opened into a narrow hallway that sloped down into a small room; at the room's center upon a raise dais was a statue of Ysgramor himself -- the statue was metal but not iron or steel...in fact, Vilkas couldn't place what the material was, not even once he'd gotten closer.

The four of them were silent as they studied the statue - reverent, in the Circle's case and timidly perhaps in Tormlia's - and it did not escape their attentions that the statue was standing as though it held a weapon ready...but the statue's hands were empty. Almost in unison the three of them looked to Tormlia; she nodded slightly in understanding and carefully walked up to the statue, tiptoeing around the coins, preserved flowers, and weapons left as tribute at the statue's base. Once she was standing steadily before it she carefully took Wuuthrad from the clasp on her back and gingerly lifted it to place it into the hands of the statue; there was a clicking noise that echoed in the room and Vilkas wasn't entirely certain if it had been just the arms that had moved ever so slightly or if the entire statue had sunk down on its base but the weight of Wuuthrad within its wielder's hands caused the door ahead of them to slide open.

"It opened..." Tormlia whispered. She carefully stepped down from the statue's dais and moved around it to peek through the opened door.

"Let's go," Farkas said - he didn't wait for anyone to follow him, instead moving to disappear through the open door.

"Try to stay close, but don't get in the way," Aela warned with a look to Tormlia. 

Tormlia nodded and stepped out of her path -- Aela stopped long enough to pull a torch from her pack and light it, then shoved it into her hands; she waited for Aela to pass then took a few steps after her, then paused to look back.

Vilkas still stood before the statue, staring up at it; all of the feelings during their trek here had hit him all at once...it was difficult to really process it all, but he knew one thing:

He was not worthy to step foot here.

"Vilkas?"

Tormlia's voice grabbed his attention and he lowered his gaze to find she'd come back to stand beside him; looking at her now a sense of failure joined in with the worthlessness, and he quickly untied the sack that held the heads of the slain Glenmoril witches and thrust it at her.

"Here...take this and follow them."

She fumbled to get a hold on the sack, staring at him. "But - aren't you coming?"

"I..." he started, huffing out a deep sigh and looking back up at Ysgramor's visage. "I have done dishonorable things, in the heat of the moment, in times where I was not fully myself. And for Kodlak's death, for your capture...I let vengeance rule my heart. I should not - I can not - go further with my mind fogged and my heart grieved."

Her look of confusion turned to one of disappointment; he swallowed hard and turned away from the look and after a few breaths heard her soft footsteps as she left him.

A sudden thought - a half-remembered story - came to mind then. "-Tormlia!" She stopped and turned to him; he could barely see her around the statue and quickly took a few steps to the side to get her fully into view. "Here rest the finest warriors of the original Companions, alongside Ysgramor," he went on. "There are stories of this place - you will find that you must prove yourself to them to be allowed to walk the halls of the tomb. Please, be careful."

Her only response was a nod before she turned her back on him and disappeared from view.

Vilkas stood, straining his ears to listen to her walk away until he couldn't hear her, then turned to sit at the base of the statue with his head in his hands.

The tomb was silent without even the sound of stone and earth shifting or the whistle of an errant draft, so much later when he heard the heavy thuds of someone coming back his way Vilkas stood and moved around the statue to meet them, and was surprised to see his brother making his way up the hall toward him.

"What are you doing here?"

Farkas stopped, looking up to him; Vilkas could see the disappointment in his brother's eyes, and noted the tense way he was walking - as though he was expecting some sort of danger, or something had put him on edge.

An immediate worry gripped him. "What happened, brother?"

Farkas sighed - it trailed off into a growl - and didn't reply; he came up to drop at the statue's feet, elbows braced on his knees and head bowed.

Vilkas crossed the short distance between them in two steps, grabbing him by the shoulder and roughly shaking him. "What happened? Why are you here? Are Aela and Tormlia all right?"

"It's nothing, brother. They're fine."

Vilkas shook him again, trying to keep the rising anger out of his voice. "Then why are you here and not there, helping them? You know Tormlia is no warrior."

Farkas was silent for a long time, prompting Vilkas to shake him again; finally he sighed and looked up at him. "Fine. There were spiders down there. Big ones. Ever since Dustman's Cairn the big crawly ones have been too much for me. Everyone has his weakness and this one is mine. I'm not proud of it, and I couldn't go on."

Dustman's... That's right - that was where Farkas had gone with one of the new recruits to seek a shard of Wuuthrad. They'd come back with the shard but by Farkas's telling the recruit was a coward, and Farkas had been forced to continue on by himself through the last part of that tomb to retrieve the shard.

"I see. And I understand," Vilkas said finally. And he truly did understand; Vilkas had no love for the frostbite spiders as some of them could grow to the size of a pony. They were poisonous, aggressive, wove webs strong enough to snare even the strongest man, and were frightening to encounter... If his brother had had to fight through an entire tomb of the things by himself it was little wonder he was fearful now.

And yet, that meant Aela and Tormlia were pushing ahead on their own...and as Tormlia couldn't fight that left their safety to Aela's prowess alone. Aela was incredibly skilled but she was one woman and no amount of healing from Tormlia could offset the possibility of being overwhelmed by numbers.

Vilkas let his gaze travel up to meet the unseeing eyes of Ysgramor's statue; shame for his past actions had stopped him here but he could not sit here while his Shield Sister and his...well, his love were in danger. And not when Kodlak's spirit was depending on them to save him.

"Let this be my penance," he muttered, taking a deep breath and heading for the door. "Come on," he called to Farkas as he passed him. "They will have likely cleared the spiders out by now."

With Farkas on his heels Vilkas hurried through the tomb; the ancient Nord architecture was eerily beautiful even choked with dust and webbing and he wished he had the time to stop and study it - later, perhaps, when their duty here was done.

They moved passed heavy iron sarcophagi and strangely glowing streaks of dust on the floor; Farkas muttered something about hostile ghosts but didn't elaborate, and they met nothing as they moved through the rooms of the tomb, pausing only for Vilkas to confirm that the web-covered rooms were in fact free of live spiders but were littered with corpses. Farkas hadn't seemed too pleased to see the corpses either and gave them a wide berth but had followed without complaint at Vilkas's promise that they were all dead.

Beyond the webbed rooms they began to find draugr; some of their bodies were strangely burned, some were full of arrows, and some bore what Vilkas recognized as Aela's eerily precise blade attacks across the throats and faces. They were careful moving through these catacomb rooms, slowing their pace and keeping their weapons ready; there were shelves carved into the stone walls full of preserved dead and from experience Vilkas knew there was no way to determine if or when one of the bodies would rise from its resting place, and just because Aela had already killed those here didn't mean more wouldn't suddenly get up and attack them.

They made it through one room without issue and there was another identical-seeming one ahead but there were sounds of a fight echoing back to them; Vilkas hurried into the next room but found it likewise full of corpses and not much else and the echoes distorted too much for anything he heard to be coherent -- it was most definitely Aela's voice, coming in short bursts of sound. Where was she...the next room, maybe?

Recklessly Vilkas sped up to a jog and found himself in the last of the web coated rooms -- there, ahead of him, was a doorway that had a pull chain hanging beside it; not all of the iron slats that had once blocked the door had fallen back into the floor but they were not difficult to step over, and down the short ramp beyond it was another stretch of catacombs. Aela's voice was clearer in here and strangely she seemed to shouting orders -- "watch the left" or "defend the right" and then a hurried follow up of "the one behind this one" all reached him and were understood despite how her voice echoed.

There were more draugr and streaks of glowing dust here; Vilkas led his brother at a quick pace through the room and turned the corner to find themselves in a narrow stretch, maybe ten feet at the most between the carved stone crypt to their left and right -- ahead of them Vilkas could see the backs of Aela and Tormlia and ahead of THEM could see multiple glowing figures.

He counted twelve that he could see but couldn't help but notice Tormlia casting (at the spirit to the far left, as Aela had ordered her) her magic and lining the ghostly figure in a pale silver light, which made the spirit cry out in fear and pain and rush away out of Vilkas's sight around the row of shelves; Tormlia followed that spell up by casting two more times, sending two other ghosts rushing away in a panic.

A spell that forced spirits and the dead to flee from the caster...Vilkas could think of no spell more useful than that within a tomb though he found himself worrying that the spirits here would consider the use of magic highly dishonorable and somehow bar their way further.

Dishonorable or not Aela was taking full advantage of it and kept barking orders, directing Tormlia to keep their (well, mostly just Aela's) flanks free of enemies; by the time they had hurried up to stand at Aela's side Tormlia's spellwork and Aela's superb fighting skills had whittled the spirits down to just those that Tormlia had sent scurrying away -- the three of them made quick work of the stragglers, then silence enveloped them again as no further dead (or otherwise) came forward to challenge them.

After she'd slid her knife back into her belt Aela quickly slapped a hand to Tormlia's back as she moved passed her. "Good work. That spell of yours was useful. Kept them from poking holes in my defense." She then turned her attention to the men. "And nice of you both to decide to see this through."

Vilkas bit down on his anger (he could see her comment had irritated Farkas as well but he too said nothing) and jerked his head toward the far side of the room; from where he stood he could see a wide stone table upon which rested a preserved corpse that was still tightly wrapped in its moldering burial cloth. Because of how the spirits had fled to the left and out of his sight Vilkas knew there had to be either another room in that direction or a hallway -- they walked forward together, finding that the room did widen some out to the right but there was indeed a door to the left that was hanging open (and barely hanging on its hinges thanks to the wood having mostly rotted away).

There were stairs behind the door; the staircase they climbed was choked with root growth, as were the walls and the ceiling, and it continued up at a lazy angle until finally it ended within a space that was wide but the arched ceilings hung low above them -- he did not try it but he was fairly certain he could touch the ceiling without needing to stretch for it. This place was overgrown with roots and some kind of ivy, and the walls seemed to press in toward them and were lined with iron sarcophagi.

The torch Tormlia still carried was beginning to burn out; Aela took a second out of her bag and lit it from the first, then carried it forward further into the room.

"There's a switch here," she called back to them.

Vilkas heard Aela's grunt as she pulled at something, then a loud thunk and a grinding noise of stone on metal shook the room; in the flickering light of Tormlia's torch he could just make out movement -- to their left something was sliding upward. He took the torch from Tormlia and moved to investigate, finding that an iron grate over a doorway had lifted up into the ceiling - the door had been so far recessed into the wall that the meager light of the dying torch hadn't been able to reach it, and if Vilkas hadn't caught the glint of the fire on the metal grating it likely would have taken them several minutes to even notice what had opened.

Down the ramp and through that door brought them into yet another room lined with iron sarcophagi; there were benches here too, and a lectern, and in the middle of the room a mammoth's skull was mounted on a wide, squat stone table that held urns as well as embalming tools.

The room was... It was lit by some ambient light, the source of which he couldn't see; cautiously Vilkas handed the torch back to Tormlia and took his weapon in hand again, just in time as blue glows began to emanate from the iron lids around them.

Now that Aela wasn't alone she wasn't demanding quite as much spellcasting; Vilkas positioned himself in front of Tormlia and took care of the spirits that rushed in from the sides while Aela met their charge with Farkas beside her -- only five had awakened to challenge them this time and were dispatched in short order, then after a moment for Tormlia to quickly mend up an arrow's graze across Aela's cheek the four continued through the room and, there...

Up some stairs and through a final doorway, and there it was...Ysgramor's resting place.

This room was the largest they'd seen within the tomb - the ceilings were vaulted and, oddly, the metal tombs of the Companions that rested here seemed as bright and clean as the day they'd been placed. At the very back of the room, protected by a metal grate, was what had to be Ysgramor's sarcophagus...and as amazing as that was, it was not what commanded Vilkas's attention.

In the center of the room in a sort of flat, sunken pit area, at a brazier that glowed a brilliant blue the spectral form of Kodlak stood with hands outstretched to the fire's strange warmth.

"Kodlak!"

Tormlia hurried by him, her shoulder knocking into his and rocking him gently where he stood; Kodlak's ghostly form turned to face them, a welcoming smile on his face.

"Greetings, child."

Tormlia came to a stop a few feet away from the specter. "Kodlak...is it truly you?" 

"Of course. My fellow Harbingers and I have been warming ourselves here, trying to evade Hircine."

Vilkas had moved up to Tormlia's side before Kodlak had finished speaking, and looked to the ghost in confusion. "Fellow Harbingers? But there is no one else here."

Kodlak chuckled warmly as Farkas and Aela moved up to stand with the other two. "You only see me because your heart knows only me as the Companions leader. I'd wager old Vignar could see half a dozen of my predecessors. And I...I see them all. The ones in Sovngarde. The ones trapped with me in Hircine's realm. And they all see you." His gaze moved to each of them in turn, his smile full of pride. "You've brought honor to the name of the Companions. We won't soon forget it."

Tormlia leaned toward him; Vilkas could see how her hands shook, holding the torch in one and the other resting on the leather tie that held the bag of severed heads to her belt. "We've killed the Glenmoril witches, Kodlak -- how do we cure you?"

"You still have the witches' heads?" the spirit asked. Tormlia let the sputtering torch drop to the stone at her feet and fumbled the bag from her belt to hold it up in front of her; Kodlak glanced first to the bag and then to her, nodding. "Excellent. Throw one of them into the fire. It will release their magic - for me, at least."

The four of them backed away from Kodlak; Tormlia reached into the stinking sack and, holding it gingerly by the hair, pulled one of the heads free and then swung it into the fire.

It was engulfed in flames the instant it landed on the coals; Kodlak's specter flinched, then began to writhe -- a red smoke began to fall from him, pooling on the floor at his feet before flowing away and beginning to rise up and take the shape of-

Vilkas seized Tormlia around the waist and spun to pull her out of the reach of the giant wolf that was already snapping at her before it was even fully recognizable as a beast; Kodlak's form had disappeared, leaving just the red glowing wolf that was enormous in size - easily the size of a cow - that, when Tormlia was rescued from its jaws, immediately leaped forward to give chase. With one hand he shoved Tormlia behind him and raised the other to catch the wolf in the throat; his arm chilled at the ghostly beast's touch and he could feel and hear the awful sound of its nails scratching down his breast plate as the animal struggled to wiggle around his upraised arm and get its teeth around his throat.

A sudden silvered light surrounded him then and warmth raced back into his arm along with the feeling of weight lifting from him -- some sort of barrier that shimmered like the surface of a pond had wrapped around him and was forcing the wolf away; within the barrier sound seemed muffled (like he actually had his head underwater, he thought) but he could hear the shouts of challenge from Aela and the angry growl from his brother as the wolf was knocked away.

Freed from the bizarre chill and the immense weight of the giant wolf spirit Vilkas got his shield and short sword in hand and his great sword returned to the catch on his back; this wolf was...vicious, unrelenting, and was currently backing Farkas up toward Ysgramor's coffin even as he struggled to stand his ground.

In the brief time it took him to get from where he stood to positioned at the wolf's side Vilkas took in as much detail as he could gather -- it was larger than a normal wolf but didn't seem different in shape otherwise, it still moved like a normal wolf, and, most importantly, it still fought like one.

'It's just stronger,' he realized. 'Like we are, with the blood.'

He raised his shield and spun himself, bringing it swinging around and down onto the wolf's head with all the momentum of his entire body behind the blow; even though the spirit staggered from the blow visually Vilkas had a difficult few moments of deciding whether he'd actually struck it -- the spirit wasn't...solid, exactly, but he'd hit something that had in turn sent the shock of the blow up his own arm, yet he swore he'd seen his shield sink into the ghostly outline of the creature. 

His eyes were saying he'd hit empty air, his arm was saying he'd struck something, and his instincts were repeatedly telling him to shut up and focus as the wolf spun around to face him again.

The wolf slammed into his shield, hard, and nearly knocked him off his feet; the familiar whistle of Aela's arrows rushed by him and after a delay he heard them striking the stone floor - like they'd only been slowed as they'd hit the spirit, not stopped entirely.

Over the rim of his shield Vilkas saw the tip of Farkas's sword coming down and again the spirit reacted as though it had been struck but he heard the sword clang into the stone floor.

"Like a stick through mud," he heard his brother grunt in frustration.

He then heard Aela say...something. It wasn't all that audible over the snarls and snapping jaws that were struggling to find their way around his shield; the arrow that flashed by then had a glow to it and this time, after the wolf flinched at the strike, he didn't hear the arrow drop to the floor. With a growl Vilkas slid a foot back and braced himself, trying to center the weight of the giant wolf on his shield; in the split instant he found something close enough to balance he pushed off with his bracing leg and pushed up with the shield -- the wolf's back paws were lifted from the stone floor and while Vilkas wasn't strong enough to throw it very far he was able to sling it to the side where it cracked into the edge of the steps that led up to a second level full of more metal coffins.

Before he could rush in to take advantage of the opening he'd forcibly created his brother charged in with his sword pulled in close and both hands at his right hip; the tip of the great sword struck the wolf in the ribs and slid upward - in any other creature it would have been an immediate killing blow but the wolf slid like jelly off the impaling weapon and snarled in challenge as it spun and snapped at Farkas. Vilkas stepped up in front of him to catch the spirit on his shield once again and he couldn't help but notice that it was favoring its front left leg - the leg closest to where Farkas had just deeply stabbed it.

Two more arrows sprouted from the wolf's spectral form and remained stuck there, radiating a silver light-

He thought back to hearing Aela earlier but not clearly enough to understand her -- she must have asked Tormlia to cast her magics on her arrows, and it certainly seemed effective.

"Tormlia!" he called - the wolf threw its head back and howled immediately after, as though it were trying to shout him down. "Can you enchant our blades with that?"

"Maybe?" came her answer. "I mean, yes, but - you have to stand still."

That wasn't an option, not with the beast constantly on top of him and Farkas; Vilkas swung the wolf off to the side again and followed it up with a few quick jabs with his sword, driving the beast back toward the iron cage that protected Ysgramor's sarcophagus. He felt more than saw a surge of power flow around him and hit the wolf (whatever it was made the hairs on his neck stand on end) and line it in the same silvered glow the arrows had imparted; the wolf hunched under the spell, shaking its head, and Vilkas slammed the pommel of his sword between its ears.

It staggered but recovered far more quickly than he'd expected and suddenly Vilkas was staring up at the ceiling through the spectral visage of a wolf as it brought its jaws down toward his face.

His entire body lit up with a dappled, bright white -- this close it was nearly blinding but it was steadily pushing outward and the further from him it got the easier it was to see; the wolf scrabbled and slid against it, beating itself against the rippling dome (the same sort of spell he'd been wrapped within earlier) protecting him where he lay helpless on his back in the floor. Beyond the thrashing limbs and snapping teeth Vilkas could see his brother slashing at the spirit, keeping his sword parallel with the floor to avoid stabbing down into him on the floor; it was a strange thing, too, to see the impact of Aela's arrows this close through the transparent shield and ghost -- the wolf's body rippled at the impact in a way similar to the shield that surrounded him and even warped a small amount around the arrow's tip where it stuck. And in a similar manner Farkas's attacks with his blade were damaging the form of the wolf but looked more like smearing around paint.

And finally, with a suddenness that surprised him, the wolf...melted. Faded away. He had a brief impression of the spirit losing shape and substance and then suddenly it wasn't there anymore - there wasn't anything there to mark that it had ever been, even.

Still laying on his back on the ground he let out a shaky sigh; the rippling dome over him disappeared and he sat up, looking to see Tormlia lowering hands that had been outstretched to him up until that moment. She looked pale and scared - wide-eyed, hands shaking - but without injury...in fact, none of them had been injured by the wolf spirit, thankfully, and only he and Farkas seemed effected at all (they were exhausted and oddly chilled to their very core - it was a cold feeling that more effected their souls than their bodies and Vilkas did not care for it).

There was a silence in the room - none of them spoke after they checked themselves and each other over; slowly there came a tiny pinpoint of blue light, not far from the brazier in the room. At first he wondered if there was a spark or ember trapped there in the air somehow by the magic that had created the wolf spirit, but as they watched it grew outward and took on Kodlak's familiar form.

The elder looked dazed, as though he didn't know where he was or what had happened, and at first didn't seem to notice (or remember) that the four of them were there.

"Kodlak?"

Tormlia's voice was shaky and timid (and tired); Kodlak blinked and shook his head, then slowly his gaze moved between them. "It... Is it done?"

"We've killed your beast spirit," Farkas answered.

Kodlak nodded - he seemed to be coming around to himself with each passing breath; he rubbed at his face and looked at them again and Vilkas was relieved to see full recognition in the spirit's eyes. 

Recognition, and that same look of pride as he'd had earlier, and now, there was relief and excitement there as well.

"You have slain the beast inside of me. I thank you for this gift. The other Harbingers remain trapped by Hircine, though. Perhaps from Sovngarde the heroes of old can join me in their rescue. The Harrowing of the Hunting Grounds. It would be a battle of such triumph. And perhaps some day you'll join us in that battle."

For a brief moment Kodlak seemed to focus on something no one but him could see, then he turned his attention to Tormlia with a kind smile. "Have you found both your question and your answer, child?"

After a pause Tormia gave him a very small nod; he nodded in turn, looking satisfied, then took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a breath or two before turning his smile on to the three Circle members.

"Return to Jorrvaskr, triumph in your victory here today..." The elder trailed off, his gaze settling on Vilkas. "...and lead the Companions to further glory, Harbinger."

Kodlak's form faded away into a fine blue mist and Vilkas stared dumbly into the space it had occupied only moments ago.

Had Kodlak just named HIM Harbinger?

"...did he just...?"

Vilkas hardly noticed Aela move up beside him, nor did he really hear her surprised question -- in fact, he didn't notice anyone else or even really remember what else they'd come here for.

The brazier they stood near was in a sort of pit in the room - two steps led down to it from the main floor; Vilkas fumbled his way over to the edge of the steps and dropped down onto it, still trying to process Kodlak's final words.

Kodlak was free, and now Vilkas was leader of the Companions.


	9. Chapter 9

After recovering from the shock of his new title Vilkas had asked the others to rest up and prepare for a second and third battle against the wolf spirits - between recovering and fighting, they'd probably spent the better part of a day or two down within the tomb but now he, Farkas, and Kodlak were all cured of the curse...clean.

Being free of the blood was so strange to him, like his head was wrapped in a thick wet blanket; his senses felt so dull and useless after years of being enhanced by the beast blood, and he agreed with his brother's assessment that aches and pains and...tensions, that he hadn't been aware of before were melting away as he became acquainted with his body again. All in all he felt weaker, slower, and like he'd been struck deaf and had his nose removed.

And yet it was still preferred to a life with the blood, he knew, and as he, Farkas, and Tormlia made their way back out to the main room that held Ysgramor's statue he let his hand stray toward hers, brushing fingers together, and felt his heart soar when she'd smiled at him. 

The blizzard was still blowing outside so they settled onto the floor around the statue; Aela had chosen to remain back in the room that held Ysgramor - communing, she'd called it, and had promised to eventually meet them back at Jorrvaskr. Even though the stone floor was uncomfortable, and uncomfortably cold, Vilkas still stretched out on his back with his head pointed to Tormlia's and in the quiet he soon heard both her and his brother doze off; he knew he should try to sleep as best he could but the old aches in his body were difficult to ignore, and he also knew there was no ignoring the quiet excitement that bubbled in his stomach -- would he be leaving for Riften soon? He could only hope.

He couldn't be certain but he thought he dozed off once or twice before he gave up and checked the weather, finding that the storm had finally passed and that while it was still heavily overcast it had stopped snowing and blowing.

Moving quietly (Vilkas had long since learned what happened if he startled his brother awake) he stepped over to Farkas and nudged him with his toe until he roused, then carefully knelt beside Tormlia and shook her by the shoulder; she woke up immediately and sat up, rubbing her eyes.

"The storm has passed, or at the very least we should return now while this quiet period holds," he explained quietly. She nodded groggily at him and stood, kneading a hand into the back of her neck.

"Back to Jorrvaskr, or somewhere closer?" Farkas asked.

Vilkas paused to consider. "--to Winterhold. We can fill our bellies and get a night's sleep before we return home."

Farkas grinned a bit at that. "Sounds fine to me. I could go for some mead."

"I'd settle for a cozy fire," Tormlia said quietly, and nearly fell over when Farkas clapped a hand to her shoulder.

"Come on, little sister," Farkas chuckled. "A bit of snow never hurt anyone."

Vilkas turned away from the two to hide his smile - he knew how his brother chose to show affection to those he cared for - and quickly jogged up the stairs and out into the frigid...morning? Afternoon? He couldn't tell but knew it was too light to be evening. The snow had been ankle deep when they'd gotten here and it was up to his thighs when he waded out but he could hear the crunch of footsteps and knew Tormlia and Farkas were right behind him. It was going to be a long, cold, and wet walk and with each step the thought of a fire to curl up beside sounded better and better.

\------------------------------------

A proper meal, a few drinks, a warm fire, and now a quiet room; Farkas was already settled and sleeping in one of the small beds (more cot than bed, Vilkas thought), while Vilkas remained awake and sitting on the edge of his.

There'd been no time or chance to speak to Tormlia privately and the desire to do so - the anticipation of doing so - was driving him mad, and there was also the fact he still couldn't believe Kodlak had passed the mantle on to him...he did not consider himself a leader, exactly -- certainly he was more strategic than most and usually he was listened to, but he didn't give orders with the firm expectation that they'd be obeyed...and really, he wouldn't consider them outright orders either. Smart suggestions based on the flow of the battlefield, maybe, but never something he would have demanded someone follow.

He certainly didn't feel worthy of the title; in a way he felt as though he'd traded all his previous worries, fears, and failures - all of that weight on his shoulders and on his heart - for the much, much weightier and larger feeling of inadequacy.

The cot-like bed wasn't very comfortable and he couldn't quiet his mind enough to actually sleep despite how tired he felt and how much he'd like to; silently he slipped from the room and down to the inn's main floor. It was just as empty as it had been earlier and the fire was dying down but it was quiet and warm and maybe he'd find the peace of mind needed for sleep if he shut everything else out and just...focused (meditated?) on the smoldering embers. He supposed it was working in a way as he wasn't certain how long he sat there, motionless, until he nearly flinched out of his seat at a sudden movement to his right -- Vilkas huffed out a startled noise and immediately felt foolish when he found himself face to face with a rather confused but apologetic looking Tormlia.

This time his heart hammered in his chest because of the scare, not because of...well. "I - I did not hear you," he said finally.

"I gathered," she replied; her little laugh was hardly more than air as she slid onto the bench beside him. "...how are you feeling?"

For several breaths he was silent, trying to determine how to word his thoughts. "...like a dulled blade expected to win a war," he answered. "It will take time to grow used to my senses as they are now, and... And I do not feel worthy of the title placed upon me." Swallowing hard he turned his head just enough to see her from the corner of his eye. "Kodlak was a great man. His guidance was sought after and respected by many. I do not know how I can expect to follow such a legacy."

A smile crept across her face as she listened to him; she did not speak at first, instead staring into the fire as he had. Vilkas inhaled and held it and carefully slid his hand from his knee over to find her hand, curling his fingers over the top of hers and was delighted when she tightened her grip to close over his thumb as he slipped it under her palm.

"He wouldn't have passed you the title if he didn't think you were fit for it," she said quietly. Her attention still remained on the fire but she didn't move her hand. "He said a lot of great things about you, you know...in that journal. And a lot of your flaws," she added, shooting him a shy smile. "But he thought highly of you -- of all of you. But you, especially."

That brought a combined sense of embarrassment as well as pride, and for a moment he wanted to ask to see the journal himself...but, no. He could trust her word, and trust Kodlak's -- and, he would always trust Kodlak's judgement, even if he didn't agree with it.

After a time she rose and tugged at his hand. "Come on."

He let her pull him to his feet. "What?"

"I know there's more than just that on your mind, and I'd rather not be out where anyone can hear it even if there doesn't seem to be anyone here."

"Ah," was all he replied. She led him from the main floor and passed the door to his and Farkas's room, and in through the doorway to hers; with each step his heart rate increased - here it was, here was the time. 

'What do I say?'

A few feet from her bed she let go of his hand and sat toward the head of the bed - it left him plenty of room to settle nervously beside her, trying to keep his expression even so he wouldn't give away the fact he felt his heart was trying to crack through his ribs.

"What is it you...want from me, Vilkas?" she asked softly.

He opened his mouth, shut it, cleared his throat, and tried again. "I-" What should he say? In what order? Glancing over he just barely caught the blush and smile as she turned away shyly; it was encouraging to know she didn't seem...angry, or disinterested? Was that the right word for it?

"Ever...ever since I first saw you," he finally started, voice wavering slightly. "It... Your beauty caught my attention -- no, it struck me dumb. I - I've seen beautiful women before, but none effected me like you had. And, as I grew to know you, I... I saw there was so much more to you than that. You are quick, and clever...intelligent. And while many would consider your rushing off to help Kodlak to be reckless, and foolhardy...I instead saw a bravery. You didn't shy from what needed to be done despite the dangers. I saw all of this and it felt so strange to me... I couldn't help but care for you, crave your company...I feared your judgement if you knew the truth of me, and even if I had been just a man then I couldn't fathom how a woman like you could possibly look twice at a fool like me."

He risked another glance to her and met her gaze; her expression was hard to read but she was blushing a deep red, and after a breath or two she looked away again.

"I suppose we've that in common then," she said quietly. "I can't understand how someone like you would want to give your heart to a nobody like me...I would have thought a warrior that could stand at your side would be more to your liking."

"I have seen and I have met many warriors...if that is what I wanted, I feel I would have found one by now," he replied. He lifted a shaking hand and carefully stroked the backs of his fingers down her cheek; slowly she turned back to him, still red in the face, and she managed a weak smile. "I do not care that you aren't a fighter, that you can't swing a sword. Anyone can learn how to fight - I could teach you myself, even. What I care for - what I love - are all these things I've found in you, and more still than I can't voice. If you'll have me, I would take you to Riften right now if that's what you want... I wish to go together through this life, until the Divines take us both."

For several agonizing moments neither of them moved; all Vilkas could hear was his own heartbeat thundering in his ears.

Then, she shifted on the bed to scoot closer and placed a demure kiss on his cheek.

He let out the breath he'd been holding in a noisy rush. "Is that a yes?"

That prompted a quiet laugh from her. "Yes, Vilkas, it's a yes. I will go with you to Riften, if you're certain that's what you want."

"It is," he quickly replied, clenching his hands to hide their shaking but smiling widely. "When do you wish to go?"

She laughed again at his earnest tone. "We can leave in the morning - or, after you've slept," she added, waggling a finger at him teasingly. "It's a long trip from here."

"I do not care how far away it is, or how tired I might be," he chuckled. A tension inside him released and left him flooded with relief and a happiness the likes of which he'd never felt before.

She actually said yes...he could hardly believe it; Tormlia gently shooed him from the room and back into his, pausing only to kiss his cheek one more time before closing the door behind him. He could distinctly feel her kiss like a brand and stumbled a bit on his way back to his bed, knowing he was grinning like an idiot and unable to bring himself to care. He fumbled his boots off in the dark and stretched out, listening to the sounds of Farkas breathing not too far from him, but then there was a creaking and a grunt as his brother rolled over.

"When'er we leavin' for Riften?" Farkas's words were slurred with sleep but undeniably clear.

Vilkas turned toward him in surprise out of habit, unable to see him in the dark but knowing where he was. "Wh- how did you know?"

"Think I've known longer'en you have," came the drowsy answer. "Mornin'?"

"...yes. In the morning."

After a pause Vilkas pulled the straw pillow from beneath his head and whipped it over in Farkas's direction; he heard it hit and another grunt but it didn't come flying back at him, leaving him to try and get comfortable without a pillow - in a way it didn't matter as he knew now, more than ever, he'd have a hard time falling asleep.


	10. Chapter 10

Even after two years Vilkas could still recall every little detail of their wedding night -- everything about her had been soft and warm; how she'd sounded and moved under him; the little bite of her nails across his back and the sting of his sweat inside the scratches; how her hair was actually longer than he'd thought and how, after they were satisfied and clean, he'd buried his face into it to nuzzle at her neck; they'd fallen asleep with her tucked into the curve of his body, legs tangled, as much of their bodies in contact with the other as possible. 

The memory of that night was never far from his mind when he was away from home and as usual it drove him a bit mad with anticipating finally getting back to Jorrvaskr; their latest recruit (an Imperial man - very young but already skilled with a sword) had passed his Trial and Vilkas left him to wait outside while he hurried down the stairs and to the room at the furthest end of the hallway.

At first it had seemed strange to occupy Kodlak's old quarters - like he was intruding - but then, neither his room nor Skjor's could remain empty forever. They had carefully and respectfully cleared away what personal belongings remained and then moved Vilkas's (and what little Tormlia had) into the Harbinger's quarters. It was a larger room than his old one, which was a good thing since two were occupying it...

Soon to be three.

Tormlia was sitting in her usual chair at the table; her hair was down over her shoulders and she was carefully embroidering a small design into the corner of a baby blanket, the fabric spread over her swollen stomach. At the soft clank of his armor she looked up and smiled warmly at him; Vilkas haphazardly tossed his satchel and gauntlets over toward a wardrobe in the corner then came over to squat on his heels and gently rest his hands over her womb as she set the sewing aside.

"Someone has been a little troublemaker and has been kicking my ribs all day," Tormlia said with a quiet laugh. 

"Sounds like someone may be eager to be born."

"Or else we should be prepared to raise a troublemaker." She laughed again and leaned forward; Vilkas rose up to kiss her, to spare her from having to bend down to him. When he stood up she did as well, and moved to help him unstrap his armor and get it arranged on the stand beside the wardrobe. "How did your new blood fare?"

"Brave and skilled with a sword, if a bit dull," Vilkas answered. "Either that or lacking confidence in even his most simple of choices."

"He IS rather young," she said quietly.

With his armor off he turned toward her and held his hands out; it was a sort of routine they had started: armor off, check for injuries, fix what needed mending, and then he could expect a quiet evening detailing wherever he'd been and whatever he'd done. With a satisfied sound (he was, after all, uninjured this time) she placed her hands in his and gave them a gentle squeeze before glancing to the door.

"Go on and welcome him in - by the time you're done I'll have made it up to the mead hall."

He chuckled and stepped forward to brush lips across her cheek before heading back out the doorway, and almost colliding with Athis just beyond it.

"Wup - sorry there, Harbinger," the dunmer said.

Over the elf's shoulder Vilkas could see a broad bear of a Nord man in leather armor standing there, red hair and beard wiry and wild, most of his chest left bare save for a few straps holding on a single pauldron, with arms crossed and with a rather sour look on his face. "It is all right, Athis. Who is this?"

"Yet another would-be new blood." Athis took a few steps aside and gestured for the giant man to step forward; the man didn't even attempt to hide the disappointment (or disapproval?) in his eyes as he looked Vilkas up and down.

Nor did he try hiding it in his tone. "YOU are the Harbinger?"

"That I am," Vilkas replied calmly - inwardly he already wanted to write the man off as someone that definitely would not follow orders or tradition but he knew he was not nearly so skilled as Kodlak had been at judging others with a glance, and until he WAS he needed to not immediately leap onto his first gut instinct. "You seek to become a Companion, then?"

"I thought I did. Now I'm not so sure after seeing some of you."

'Give a man enough rope to hang himself' Vilkas couldn't help thinking. Outwardly he kept his expression neutral. "And why would that be? Size alone does not a skilled warrior make."

Athis (still standing off to the side) was definitely making no effort to hide his disbelief at the giant man's attitude. He met Vilkas's gaze and offered a half shrug. "All I did was offer to take him to you - he showed up on his own."

Vilkas moved his attention back to the other man. "He is welcome to leave on his own, if we are not what he was seeking. It might be best for all of us. Have Farkas and the others returned?"

"Not yet - think another day, week at most," Athis answered.

Nodding to that Vilkas stepped around the giant man and gestured for Athis to follow; he caught a glimpse of the man's stunned look as they walked off and left him there, then heard the thundering footsteps following after.

"Now wait just a moment-"

Struggling to not roll his eyes Vilkas stopped and turned, staring up at the man - he was only a half foot taller and all of him was wider than Vilkas, but he didn't fear him. "What? You made it clear we are not as you expected, you have admitted you are not certain you belong here, and this speaks to me of a man who will not follow orders from anyone he perceives as "lesser" - whatever your reasoning for that judgement may be. Am I wrong?"

The man's face went red and for a moment Vilkas tensed, dropping his hand to his belt but easily within reach of the sword he kept there; both he and Athis were roughly shoved in opposite directions as the mountain of a man stomped between them and up the stairs. They followed along to confirm that he left Jorrvaskr out the front doors, then they exited out the back.

"Don't know what he was expecting. Giants?" Athis snorted.

Vilkas shrugged. "It is not my problem and I do not care. I feel nothing but relief over his departure - he likely would not have listened to any of us so good riddance."

And he was also glad the man had left strictly for logistics reasons -- there had been a sudden influx of new bloods and and even with Njada having left for her own fortunes and Athis moved up in rank to the Circle he knew there was just one bed left in the men's barracks and none in the women's...and, he doubted their beds could comfortably hold a man of that size and in order to accommodate a larger bed he would have to remove one to make enough space.

There was of course Skjor's old room that stood empty... A bed somewhere would be freed once someone had proven themselves worthy of the Circle but Vilkas wasn't about to rush someone into a rank they did not deserve just to open up a bed. He couldn't remember a time (at least while he was here) when there had been this many capable, worthy Companions beneath Jorrvaskr's roof, and it was a strange feeling - one he had yet to get used to - to realize this many people were looking to him for leadership and guidance.

Waiting outside near the training dummies was the boy Torrstein (man, technically) that Vilkas had accompanied into a bandit's den in order to rescue a man's kidnapped daughter; Torrstein had performed very admirably - he'd showed no fear and a high degree of skill with his sword but as Vilkas had admitted to Tormlia earlier the boy seemed to lack any agency about making his own decisions, and for most of the rescue endeavor had relied completely on Vilkas to direct and order him around.

Vilkas had his doubts about him...but he WAS young. Confidence, wisdom, and experience came with age and practice, and perhaps in time Torrstein would outgrow his need for direction and take charge of himself as any skilled warrior did.

"You did well," Vilkas said, directing his words at the boy as he and Athis approached him. "Come and speak with me, let me tell you what happens now while we wait for our other Shield Siblings to return."

\------------------------------

Dinner had come and gone quickly and finally he was free to fall into bed; Tormlia was already there and half asleep, stirring some as he slipped in behind her. Gently he slid arms around her - one under her head and one reaching to rest a hand on her stomach - and huffed out a sigh as he stuck his nose into her hair -- her scent was as familiar and soothing as ever, and it was perhaps THE only thing he regretted about ridding himself of his beast blood: it just wasn't as strong to him as it had been before.

But, he supposed, he didn't need to smell her from across the room...being close was much more preferable.

"What did he think?" she asked sleepily.

"Surprised he was accepted, eager to have his official welcoming once Farkas and Aela have both returned. I hope he grows into himself a bit...we are not soldiers, I am not here to command an army. Someone who cannot function on his own will not last."

She nodded and shifted, bringing up her hand to rest it in his that was under her head; he wrapped his fingers around hers as best as he could (the angle was rather awkward).

"It makes me wonder who he learned from," she went on after a pause. "Maybe whoever taught him beat blind obedience into his hide."

"We shall see," Vilkas murmured. For a time they lay there together in silence; Vilkas could tell from her breathing that she'd not fallen asleep. "...with as many that have come seeking us, I fear for this war and what it will mean for us in the future. We have been incredibly lucky that it hasn't come to our doorstep, but should it... I do not know that we can remain neutral."

Tormlia adjusted the pillow (as well as his arm) under her. "-of course not. We can't let either side come here and kill our family and neighbors and whoever does it first will assure that Whiterun AND the Companions will throw in with the other side. I at least hope that unless they're absolutely certain they can take the city quickly neither Stormcloak nor the Empire will even look our direction -- and it's not like they can sneak up on us, with all the empty plains here."

"That is true," he agreed - and he did agree with all of that, actually. It would be no easy feat to march an army over mountains and through the forests to even get to the plains, and they would be seen long before they got close. Of course, that didn't guarantee that Whiterun could enlist aid in time from whichever side WASN'T attacking them, but at the very least they wouldn't be blindsided by a sudden attack.

She let out a quiet, contented hum; he nuzzled in to her neck again, breathing out slowly and trying to let his stress go out with it. There was always another time to worry about his misgivings, the war, new bloods... For now he just wanted to be comfortable and warm beside his wife and dream of their coming child -- being a father was actually less terrifying to him than being Harbinger for whatever reason, though... 

Tormlia woke up a bit more at his sudden chuckle. "What?"

"It occurs to me, as I lay here thinking of our coming son or daughter, that with that young new blood I am already looking after a helpless child."

She elbowed him gently. "Be kind. He will learn."

He chuckled again and squeezed her gently. "Yes, my fair raven." That got him another teasing elbow to the ribs but afterward they settled back into a comfortable silence; he listened as her breathing grew even and slow - asleep, then.

With any luck the others would return in the morning or the next day and they could get the new bloods officially inducted, and then...he supposed he should tend to the few letters sitting on the table (assuming no more had been delivered while he was gone) and see to the training sessions Torvar had been pestering him about, and--

He squeezed his eyes shut and willed himself to just be _still._

He didn't need anything else right now...just this moment, in bed, resting beside his wife, thinking of his child, and nothing else. The Companions - and the world - could handle one night of him not fretting over them. Tonight he could just be still, and comfortable, and happy.


End file.
